#In reference to the way that when you stand with a dozen people behind you

[bonefall]

(dif anon) So is Ashfur grooming Shadowsight a plotline you would keep/rework in BB? I'm not so keen on the way canon used it to retcon his epilepsy, but I do think a plotline examining how clerics can be vulnerable to abuse from StarClan spirits is kinda compelling

Shadowsight's epilepsy is staying in BB, the Erins can try and take it away again over my dead body

Yes, that's staying and BB!StarClan was reworked with unfairness in mind.

This time around, I'm considering the idea that Ashfur didn't work completely alone. After the events of Squirrelflight’s Horror, Silverpelt's divisons are starting to crackle the stars.

Skystar and the other more traditional spirits are losing patience with the peace that Fire Alone brings, and the ways that the code has been bent.

They feel that honor is being lost in their descendants.

Even angels disrespect the collective; see how Skypelt has its own heaven? With a demon in its midst? There is blasphemy even in the skies.

Firestar and the more modern pantheon are ferociously defensive of the choices of the living. StarClan exists for them; not the other way around.

Meanwhile, Mousefur has gone missing. Others start to blink out, too. This is causing panic... and Ashfur keeps it quiet that he's the only one who knows where they've gone.

The angels that plan action probably were a small group to begin with, radical spirits. Skystar and Ashfur are two of them, and Ash is the "youngest." So when he comes down to the mortal plane and betrays them, very few other angels knew what had happened.

(I might even have a few angels be doing the various supernatural things in that first book, but slowly, Ashfur is wittling down their numbers until it's just him.)

I'm still working out specifics, but the other angels that Ashfur has consumed are giving him a massive power boost. He can use this to jump between planes freely, and he's able to do some whacky things like weave dreams and pull nightmares out of the Dark Forest.

The most important unique power he has, which he can do ALL on his own once he's absorbed enough starpower, is blast Shadowpaw with a bolt of lightning. The electric current runs through Shadowpaw's brand new scar, giving him a connection to StarClan like he's a little radio tower.

Thing is... when StarClan is blocked off, the only signal he receives is Ashfur's.

So, Shadowpaw.

From the time he was very young, Shadowkit has had an unhealthy relationship to life and death

He watched a lot of cats die before he was old enough to really understand it, and the only one who came back was Heartstar.

His epilepsy was so severe it would have been terminal. He was prepared to die as a kit.

Tawnypelt took him to the Tribe to learn more about treatments, bringing back a method of refining chamomile to manage the convulsions.

When people come back from death, it was to serve "a purpose."

He feels like he needs to be special, like he needs to find the great meaning in his life. The reason why he's still here.

In BB, there can be guardian angels. Cats you knew in life who decide to watch out for you in the afterlife. Moleflight is Jayfeather's, Shrewface is Squirrelflight’s. Ashfur poses as Shadowpaw's.

THAT is how I plan to address my criticism. Ashfur DOES build a very personal, trusting relationship with Shadowpaw, pretending to be the one who's here to give him the destiny he craves. Pretending like he's someone looking out for him.

I actually LIKE how desperate the situation was in-canon and I want to stress how none of this was Shadow's fault, so I also plan to keep that they had very little choice. Shadowpaw trusts his angel completely, and Ashfur coaches him on saying all the right things.

The older Clerics are suspicious, but... what else can they do?

Also, instead of framing this all as something Shadowpaw needs to "atone" for, I'm going to make certain cats unfairly scapegoat him for bringing the Impostor into the forest. Shadowpaw himself agrees with them, blaming himself, but he has to learn it wasn't his fault.

He DIDN'T let anyone down by failing to live up to great expectations, and there's no way he could have known that Ashfur was using him. This never happened before, he always made the choice he thought was right and tried to make up for harm done, and he's not responsible for what his abuser made him do.

I actually want to have him figure out some of this by talking to DF demons, towards the end. Cats faaaar more responsible for what they did in life than him.

Ravenwing in particular, who was also mislead by a rogue StarClan spirit, but... ultimately decided that if StarClan was right in their judgement.

He was told (by Birchface, but he still doesn't know who it was in particular) to make three kittens unsafe by revealing their parentage. His choice killed three innocent children, and lead to the Queen’s Rights.

And StarClan was furious that he'd ever believe they'd want something so CRUEL.

And even if they DID want something so cruel... "Then they wouldn't have been ancestors worth following. And that's why I believe it's right that I'm here."

As a Cleric, he had authority on their behalf. And if they would misuse it through him, he wishes he could have just given it right back.

And Shadowsight's lightbulb goes Ding!

The very last thing Ashfur does in TBC, when the jig is up and he's about to be killed by the Lights in the Mist and a bunch of Demons who have come to defend their home, is swallow a Founder-- Skystar.

He takes the level of a true god, and reaches a nearly undefeatable level of power. Instead of black water, he's so large, malicious, and has a gravitational pull so massive it starts destroying the afterlife. It shatters the purgatory (Meadow of Young Stars) into floating cosmic fragments, and Heaven and Hell are set to collide.

Shadowsight confronts Ashfur, politely explaining that he's, well... done a lot of thinking, and, he doesn't really want what he gave him. "You can, uh, have this back!"

And blasts the lightning from his scar right back at him, like a chain, holding the screeching eldrich horror in place. Every ally he's made, here in the DF, come down from StarClan, and as Lights in the Mist, jump to his side. They can't hold down Ashfur, but they can hold SHADOWSIGHT

While they're all supporting him, Bristlefrost sees the one chance to get rid of him, once and for all. A clear shot. She bolts, pounces, and SHOOTS right into Ashfur like a falling star, knocking them both off the edge of the heaven he destroyed, burning up in orbit with a monster a hundred times her size.

And after that, Shadowsight has to go home and live with this.

He gave up the very connection that made him so special, and now he has to go back to being a Cleric without StarClan.

but the other Clerics accept this. They have to. They were all complicit in the choices that allowed the Impostor to rise.

What Shadowsight learns is... everyone was part of this. From those who made the follies with him, to the supporters and rebels against the impostor, to those who helped him realize his worth, to Bristlefrost who ultimately killed Ashfur.

He is valuable because living is valuable.

Everyone, and everything, matters. All cats have a role to play, and he was never alone.

I want to close him out in BB!TBC on a tea scene that parallels the various points in his life. Others used to prepare his chamomile treatments FOR him, in careful doses, because it is a very serious medicine. Now, at the end, he's the one brewing it.

A fully fledged Cleric, who realizes he's never been alone. Cats who love him were around him the whole time, making his medicine, and they'll love him even after he's given up his powerful gift. So now he's at the stage in his life where HE can make that medicine, share his wisdom with others, and find fulfillment in the skills he's acquired over a hard life brightening.

[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM ask: if my Kenpachi Count is correct, Gosuke Kiganjo might have been the previous captain of the 11th that Zaraki killed to get his job. Is that the case? How many problems did losing that co-conspirator cause for Aizen? And how much of a grudge did he hold for the big unkillable brute?

(With Reference to This Post and This One) It started with a pair of oranges.

---

It was Monday, November 11th, and like every November 11th, there was a ruckus coming from the 11th division. It was a faint noise largely obscured by distance and the windows that had been closed against the early winter cold, but it was still present as Now-Captain Sosuke Aizen reorganized Former Captain Hirako's office into his own.

He was luxuriating in the task. It was something he'd looked forward to for a long time- getting rid of the complex musical speakers that droned the worst assemblage of noises that apparently qualified as music, and finally installing a proper filing system in it's place was filling Aizen with a profound satisfaction that he assumed was an overture to his inevitable victory.

The way everyone was pointedly referring to him as Captain Aizen because they were trying to memorize the title tickled him a bit too. Perhaps it was vain of him to enjoy it so much but... well, the little theatrical dance of pretending to pretend he wasn't grimacing and playing up the act of Putting On A Brave Face, only for whoever was speaking to try to reassure him that everything would work out, that he was being so brave, and you don't have to do this yourself-

"Oh no, I don't think I could stand leaving it to anyone else!" He'd respond, and the whispers of how Brave and Dutiful and Humble he was slithered through the division...

...An actor can hardly be faulted for enjoying the adulation of the crowd.

"Hey Bos- uh, Captain!" A boy's voice called behind him.

Of course, it helped that Aizen had been blessed with such a stellar supporting actor.

"Can you help me?" now-Lieutenant Gin Ichimaru asked, tugging on Aizen's Haori for his attention like a normal child, something the boy had learned was enormously charming of him. "-I can't get this thing to stay on my arm." he explained, holding up Aizen's old Lieutenant's badge, the slightly oversized sleeves of his Kosode falling back to reveal his toothpick-thin arms.

"Oh dear. That' won't fit you for a few years yet, will it Gin?" Aizen smiled, patting the boys head and kneeling down, tying it one way, failing, trying another, failing again, giving an enormously defeated sigh, going over to Hira- No, HIS desk now! his desk and rifling through the drawers, and came back with a Safety Pin to hold the badge in place.

"...There!" he beamed, patting Gin's shoulder when the badge didn't slide off his scrawny arm. "-Just don't tell Yamamoto-sama!"

Aizen then turned to look over his shoulder down the hall, where no fewer than a dozen faces peeking out of doors and around corners to watch the scene, and held a finger up to his lips with a small wink. The heads vanished with small gasps, charmed chuckles and a few high-pitched teakettle-like outbursts Gin had once aptly described as "Squeeing".

Scene over and Audience satisfied, Aizen closed the figurative curtains and literal door. Suigetsu pinged softly, Illusion activating- anyone listening in wouldn't quite be able to make out the words, but walk away confident that they were only discussing Division Business.

"You're in a good mood!" Gin grinned up at him, noting Suigetsu's call and the invitation to speak freely. "Though I guess it's not a surprise. It's been a very successful week for you!"

Aizen shrugged, just a little bit smug. "I am allowed to enjoy my laurels once in a while, I think."

Gin laughed, and hopped up to sit on the desk, kicking his feet over the footwell as he fished some oranges he'd taken from the commisary out of his pockets. "Speaking of people who have had very... intense weeks, where's old blind bones?"

"Captain Tousen actually insisted on attending the 11th Division Tryouts, even though both Ukitake and Kyorako offered to go in his place so he could rest!" Aizen said, taking one orange for now and another for later- he'd like to have to work through lunch, he was now so burdened with responsibility, a fun little scene he was workshopping in the back of his head. "...I suppose the poor bastard still regards Kiganjo as his responsibility."

"Hm." Gin nodded, mouth full of orange, spiral peel on the desk beside him. Aizen nodded at the peel and pointed at the trash can behind the boy.

"Sorry, Lord Aizen. That might be-' he swallowed, and tossed the peel over his shoulder and into the bin. '-but it could also be tactical. Unohana-taicho attends every year and within arm's reach of her might be the safest place for him right now. Be a shame if he had a turn, you know?"

"It's a damn shame that Kiganjo hasn't had one." Aizen grumbled.

"Yeah I was sure the Menos invasion would be enough to do him and the Loud Idiot from the tenth in." Gin sulked. "Oh well, I suppose it's good we had a trial run- now we know we gotta really ramp up production of Menos."

"Fortune was on our side in that respect." Aizen agreed, examining his first orange for the best place to begin peeling. There was an art to it, and the practice helped maintain his skills. "Maybe fortune will smile upon us again and Kiganjo will fall to some idiot at the tryouts."

He had just found the perfect place to begin when the ambient reiatsu of the Seireitei suddenly shuddered and bowed, like he was standing inside a rubber balloon and could make out the silhouette of someone approaching with a hatpin. Aizen reflexively jammed the orange in his pocket with it's companion as his head swiveled north like an owl. The incoming sharp point of reiatsu approached at an alarming speed-

BANG!

Whatever it was met the outer wall of the Seireitei. To Aizen's Horror, did not slow down. It was however now accompanied by successive crashes that seemed to be getting closer-

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

THUNK!

Aizen ran out the door, and slid a bit on the wood floors as whatever it was suddenly flew over the 5th division and made impact deep into the relatively soft earth of the training grounds.

"What the-?" He asked glasses askew not with practiced effort but genuine bewilderment. It took a moment to recognize the massive object now embedded upside-down in the middle of the courtyard, because Aizen had only ever seen it rightside up, and firmly bolted in place. "-Is. Is that the North Gate?" he sputtered, the feeling of surprise now turning into something bordering on Genuine alarm.

"I think that's Fortune's idea of a smile." Gin winced. "We uh... We should probably hoof it to the 11th."

"What?" Aizen repeated, genuinely surprised. "Why?"

Gin pointed in the direction of the 11th, and Aizen sluggishly followed his gesture-

CRACK!!

The outburst of reiatsu was so explosive it generated it's own superbolt of lightning- though whether it was the result of ionization down from the clouds, or worse- came up from the ground, he wasn't sure.

"...Oh." He paled, then steeled himself, clenching fists and inhaling. "LISTEN UP!" he barked to be heard over the growing din of alarm. "Our first priority is to keep the city from falling to chaos until we're told otherwise! Seated officers! Each of you take a dozen men and head to the Emergency rally points! Keep civilians calm, and direct them away from the 11th! Gin, you're with me!"

"SIR! YES SIR!" the assembled Shinigami shouted, and quickly fell in as he and Gin took off with Shun-po towards the scene of the catastrophe.

"You've got speed on me Gin, go scout ahead!" He called and the boy vanished in a silver flash of light ahead of him. He could make out other approaching officers- Kuchiki, his lieutenant with the fancy sunglasses and his grandson from the sixth and Lieutenant Yamada and an emergency troop from the fourth.

Another flash- bright red-orange for the instant it was visible- and he realized Yamamoto himself had deployed to the scene.

"Why does every woman turn into a huge bitch when you ask her to smile?" Aizen groaned.

Even with Shun-po it still took him a few minutes to actually arrive, just ahead of the Kuchiki detachment, and landed beside Gin where he was standing on the roof of the 11th. "How is it?" he panted.

"You want the good news or the bad news first?" Gin grimaced as more people arrived behind them-

"Holy FUCK!" Yelped Captain Ukitake, a man who was so careful with his language he kept a division swear jar.

"What the hell made that?" Echoed Captain Kyoraku, voice trembling.

Below them, the Dueling arena in the courtyard of the 11th had been cleft in twain. As had the rest of the Courtyard. And the ground below. And the Sewers below that- even from up here he couldn't see how deep the cut went- it had to be at least a hundred feet deep, which made it... deeper than it was wide, a terrifying thought.

"Just give me the news, Gin." He said, trying to sound like a Captain in control of the situation, but his voice cracked for the first time since puberty. Aizen shuddered as he realized that all was left of Kiganjo were the splashes of red on either side of The Hole's median.

"Well uh, the good news is that the thing that made that hole was only mad at Kiganjo specifically, and has peacefully accepted the commission as Captain of the 11th." Gin explained.

"Oh thank god!" Ukitake exhaled with relief.

"...What's the Bad news?" Kyoraku asked.

"...The bad news is the The Thing That Made That Hole is now captain of the 11th." Gin winced, pointing him out in the surprisingly calm crowd. "...Also, I think he already knows Captain Unohana because he was awful polite without her threatening him at all, and unless I'm mistaken, I think he knows Tousen too."

Aizen followed Gin's lead with great alarm for the second time in under ten minutes, and barely managed to pick out Tousen's garish orange scarf in the crowd. Mostly because of the Giant man in about half of a ratty Yukata and mostly bandages was standing next to Tousen, hand on the captain's shoulder and grin so broad it was visible even from up here. The man had long, unkempt black hair that came down to the middle of his back and some kind of bundle on his shoulder.

"...I guess we go make our introductions?" Ukitake mumbled, and the other two captains shrugged, then jumped down.

Tousen's expressions were hard to read on a good day, and right now he looked so stunned he might have been hit by that lighting bolt.

"-See, I never forget a face!" The giant was saying cheerfully. "Even if it's in a pho- whatsit. The paintings that come out of a box." The giant was an ugly beast of a man, at least seven feet tall, standing barefoot, and had a strangely long and angular face, with dark, sunken eyes.

"A Photograph Ken-Chan?" the bundle asked, and Aizen realized that the thing draped over his shoulder was the little pink-haired girl Tousen had smuggled in and out of the Captain's meeting yesterday.

Uh-oh.

"Thems." The giant nodded. "You alright Kaname? You look like yer about to keel over."

"I- I'm-" he started to speak and Aizen snapped Suigetsu open to flash the assembled crowd and hopefully catch the giant in the illusion before Kaname could speak and blow the whole operation-

"-PUT THAT THING AWAY!" The Giant roared, glaring at Aizen over his shoulder ...Through an eyepatch? Aizen paused, startled.

"You look like sheep when you run up on 'em at the road at night." The Giant chuckled at him. "Keep yer panties on, it's all done and dusted."

"Really Sosuke!" Ukitake huffed, chopping him on the shoulder to make him sheathe Suigetsu again.

"My apologies for my friend, it's literally his first day on the job." Kyoraku waved apologetically. "I'm 8th Division Captain Shunsui Kyoraku, the silver fox is 13th Division Captain Jushiro Ukitake, and that's appointed-yesterday 5th Division Captain Sosuke Aizen."

"You certainly know how to make an entrance, Captain-?" Ukitake asked brightly, attempting to distract the giant from Aizen.

"Kenpachi Zaraki." The Giant leered down at them. The other eye was sunken and gaunt and an unpleasant shade of yellow as Zaraki studied them in a way that made Aizen's skin crawl, like without suigetsu's Illusion, Zaraki could somehow see him naked. Yep. That's an eyepatch... But why do I have the feeling he can see right through it? Right through me?

"My apologies, Captain Zaraki-" Aizen sputtered, closing the distance and putting his hand on Kaname's other shoulder. "-Kaname is a very dear friend of mine and it's alarming to see a stranger touching him." he explained, digging the heel of his palm into the Silence character carved into Tousen's shoulder.

Tousen made a faint clicking noise in his throat as he involuntarily swallowed the shriek of pain under the Curse's command, and nodded in agreement. There- if I can't conceal Tousen from this brute, I can at least force him to remain silent. The illusion is safe.

"...That so?" Zaraki asked, the yellow eye fixed on Aizen's hand, and Aizen let go before he realized what he was doing. What? Why am I flinching? Who is this guy?

"You've taken to your title quickly!" Aizen smiled up at him, feigning cheerful interest.

"Title Schmitle, it's been my Name since before you were a wiggle in yer Da's nutsack." Zaraki grunted.

Aizen felt his glasses slipping off his face without his permission again. I didn't think there was an expression worse than Hirako's 'since you were kickin' in your momma'...

"Ah, here's trouble- WHAT TOOK YOU ASSHOLES SO LONG?" Zaraki roared cheerfully at two men who appeared on the 11th's roof, panting and enraged.

"HI YUYU! HI BALDY!" Yachiru waved cheerfully!

"Yachiru darling! I'm so glad you're safe!" the lithe, effeminate one waved back before jumping down to meet them.

"FUCK YOU!" howled the bald, muscular one.

"FUCK ME YOURSELF YOU COWARD!" Zaraki called back, grinning as they approached. "Come look who I found-!

Fuck! Aizen suddenly realized that when he'd let go of Tousen, Zaraki had not, and was now herding him away from Aizen, his huge and terrible body between them.

"OH MY GOD! IS THAT KAKIYO'S BROTHER?" the fop shrieked with excitement, sprinting over and grabbing Kaname's hand. "Yumichika Aseyagawa- oh this is DELIGHTFUL! I've heard so much about you!"

"Holy shit! You're the guy that burned down that shitass Daimyo's compound down, right?" the bald, clownish one grinned, shaking Kaname's whole arm. "Ikkaku Maderame, it's such an honor to meet you!"

THEY KNEW KAKIYO!? FUCK!! Aizen paled.

"-Burned what down?" Kyoraku asked.

"Shut up cueball, they acquitted him." Zaraki grunted, flicking Madarame's forehead. "Speaking of- I haven't heard form Kakiyo in Donkey's years, how is she? Running one of these divisions, right?"

"Gin!" Aizen hissed, searching the crowd for his Lieutenant. "Do something!"

"...She's dead." Kaname said flatly, still dazed with the... the everything probably.

Zaraki's shock rippled through the ambient reiatsu like being dunked in cold water. There's no sign of Gin, and no way to silence Tousen-

"What? How?" Aseyagawa demanded, the other two equally horrified.

"She was murdered." Kaname's voice was small, weak and he was starting to sway- the effort of resisting the curse was about to make him collapse.

Zaraki slowly crouched down, perched on his toes so he could pull Kaname close, face to face

"Who." It wasn't a request.

With a shaking arm, Tousen pointed to the remains of the Arena.

SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK!! Aizen felt his heart racing.

"I- I'm sorry. I tried to, but- I can't- I can't I'm not strong enough-" Tousen stammered, trying to speak through the pain.

"It's alright. I am." Zaraki said, voice suddenly strangely gentle, touching his forehead to Kaname's. He sat down, pulling Kaname down with him, half in Zaraki's lap so he couldn't be easily pulled away. "Tell me the details later, ya look like yer about to drop dead. Y'all got anything he can eat?" He glared at the other captains.

Ukitake immediately produced a large bag of candy and Kyoraku a flask that smelled like you could use it's contents for eye surgery. Aizen made a show of patting his coat, and suddenly remembered the two oranges Gin had handed him earlier.

"Uh, I have these..?" Aizen offered the fruits, mentally preparing to skin Gin.

"Good to see one of you is an adult." Zaraki chuffed, taking one of the oranges and handing it to Kaname, who pointed his face at it blankly. "You don't mind if I take the other? I sprinted here from North 69 on an empty stomach."

Tousen shook his head, still silent.

"Good man, you'll be alright. Ta." Zaraki said, taking the second orange from Aizen with a nod of gratitude.

... and then casually bit halfway into it like an apple and chewed, rind and all.

Aizen stood there, dial tone echoing between his ears. Gradually he became aware his left eye was twitching.

"Did. Did you just bite straight into that orange?" Kaname frowned.

Zaraki, to Aizen's horror, swallowed. "Yeh, what's wrong with that?"

"...Nothing at all." Aizen smiled, checking out of this scene. "Excuse me, I seem to have misplaced my lieutenant..." he mumbled, turning on his heel and wandering away from them.

---

Kaname felt Zaraki arch his back slightly, watching Aizen go.

"...Uh-huh." he said, smirk audible. "Alright lads, you got marchin' orders."

The other two men snapped to attention.

"Yumichika- There's a woman, beautiful and terrible as the dawn, with a coat like this 'cept it's got a four on the back. Go tell her Kaname's had a turn and whatever she says you say 'Yes Sir' and do it." he said, tugging on Kaname's haori.

"Sure, that's definitely a description I can follo- oh. Nevermind, I see what you mean!" Yumichika said, catching sight of Unohana. "On it, Boss."

"Er, It might help if I'm there to make Introductions..." Kyoraku offered, jogging after Yumichika.

"Ikkaku." he spoke as soon as Yumichika was out of earshot. "There's a man who's older than dirt who looks like he could set you on fire just lookin' at you, 'cos he can. He's got the Employee Handbook, can you go grab that?"

"...What Employee Handbook?" Ikkaku frowned. "Don't tell me you're quittin' the house? Madame won't like that."

"Madame sent me here today on purpose." Zaraki waved. "-But seein' as I just did a homicide right in front of everybody, the old man offered me a choice. Take Kiganjo's old job runnin' the 11th, or get burnt to ash right there, and I can't take care'a Yachiru if I'm charcoal."

"So... you're a shinigami Captain now?" Ikkaku asked, sounding more intrigued than anything.

"Seems so." Zaraki shrugged. "Funny thing- the Lieutenant and Third-in-command's seats are up for grabs too."

Ikkaku cackled. "Be right back, Captain!" he grinned and took off towards the center of the city.

"Oh, shit-!" Ukitake muttered, looking up from where he had been transfixed by the sight of Yachiru devouring the bag of candy. "Er- Yama-Ji can be a bit tetchy with strangers, I should probably go with him..." he winced, sprinting after apparently-Lieutenant Madarame.

Zaraki chuckled, weight shifting and turning his attention back to Kaname. "...You want some help with that, Little bat?"

Kaname nodded, too dazed to protest as Zaraki took the orange from him.

"That Aizen's a creep, ain't he?" he asked.

"Yeah! Kaname-kun told me to stay away from him, even more than I needed to stay away from Kiganjo!" Yachiru nodded, mouth still full of candy.

"Thought so." Zaraki hummed, fiddling with the orange. "You know what's great about first Impressions?"

Kaname shook his head, just relieved Zaraki was here to keep him from collapsing straight onto the pavement.

"They Stick." Zaraki said voice low and conspiratorial. "-No matter what Aizen sees me do from now on, no matter what anyone tells him, he will believe, at his core, that I'm an idiot."

-And with that, he pressed a perfectly peeled and clean segment of orange into Kaname's hand.

Kaname blinked a few times, turning the fruit over in his hands as he sluggishly connected the dots and, despite everything, slowly broke into a genuine smile.

"Kakiyo always said you were a clever bastard." Zaraki grinned, "Eat yer orange."

---

Aizen finally located Gin, hiding under the narrow gap under one of the stone storehouses in the less-used section of the 11th.

"What the HELL are you doing?" Aizen hissed at him.

"That thing ain't human." Gin whimpered. "I dunno what it is, but it ain't right."

"I agree he looks like a carcass that's too stupid to know it's dead but that's because he's a MORON." Aizen groaned, reaching under the porch and pulling the boy out by the scruff of his neck. "You should see how he eats oranges."

"I'm not kidding!" Gin pleaded, grabbing Aizen's sleeve. "He's got- I don't know, but when he looked at us? It was like he could see right through me!"

"Yes, yes-" Aizen waved. "-but even if he could, I promise, he hasn't got the brains to understand what he's seeing."

"He's gonna eat me." Gin muttered, hiding behind Aizen, peering out behind him in the general direction of courtyard.

"What's gotten into you?" Aizen huffed. "You've never been spooked before-?"

"I'm telling you!" Gin pleaded up at him, eyes very nearly open with alarm. "There's something deeply fucked up about that guy! He's dangerous! He's gonna find me and grab me and eat me!"

Aizen sighed, put his hand on Gin's shoulder, glanced around for witnesses, and finding them alone, backhanded Gin as hard as he could.

"Get ahold of yourself!" he snarled, and Gin flinched. He softened his voice, fingertips under Gin's chin, tipping his head up. "I'm sorry- it's easy to forget you're just a boy sometimes- but we can't lose our heads now, not when we've come so far. I'll deal with Zaraki, alright? I need you to keep Tousen in line- I've gotten him to shut up for now, but it's VITAL that he not speak to that brute until I've gotten him and his two clowns under The Illusion, got it?"

Gin nodded, sniffling, cheekbone turning slightly pink.

"Good boy." Aizen smirked. "I'll leave it to you then."

Gin vanished with a flash to carry out his orders, and Aizen sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them.

"-How do these things constantly get filthy?" he muttered.

"Most of the filth on glasses is the grease from the skin of the wearer. If they're constantly filthy, it may be that you're just slime." someone spoke up behind him and Aizen yelped, nearly dropping his glasses as he fumbled them onto his face.

"-Good heavens! How DO you do that?" He laughed nervously to suddenly be in close proximity to the massive frame of Yamamoto's pet third seat that he'd just assigned to the Seventh Division. No saftey pins needed to keep the Lieutenant's badge on the tree-trunk arms of Sajin Komamura.

The narrow gap in the helmet stared impassively down at him, and for the second time that morning, Aizen was struck by the feeling he was nearly being seen through.

"I didn't quite catch all that, but I did hear the sound of someone being slapped before I see you, holding your lieutenant like that, and he sprints away with a fresh bruise on his face." Komamura rumbled ominously.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean." Aizen glared back.

"I'm glad to hear that. I should hope that I merely misunderstood what I saw, and that there's no cause for alarm." Komamura leaned forward, and Aizen thought there was the briefest flash of the same yellow as Zaraki's working eye in there. "-There are very few deviances the captain-general won't tolerate, but the lines in the sand do very much exist."

"Sajin-" Aizen scoffed, turning away from the menacing hulk of a shinigami. "You may be Yamamoto's Golden Boy, but you ought to mind what you go sticking your nose into, lest somebody cut it off."

There was no reply.

"Glad you underst- really?" Aizen groaned at the empty corner of the 11th Division. "How the HELL does he do that? It's like being stalked by an animal... Whatever, it's fine- Sajin still has his uses, and he'll forget it by tomorrow morning, won't he?" Aizen smirked, affectionately rubbing Suigetsu's hilt, the Zanpakuto purring at the attention.

"Now, let's go deal with that orange-mangling moron." he smiled as he stalked back into the remains of the 11th's courtyard.

[thepenultimateword]

Skin Crawl Part Two

Part One

CW: bugs, shedding skin (the description has the possibility of grossing people out)

Hero pinched themselves hard in the thigh, managing to snap our of their gawking stupor.

Ok. This was real. Villain--their Villain--was here and a criminal and apparently in a relationship. Not that that mattered, it wasn't like they'd ever been anything anyway. It'd been 8 years, and Hero had gone on plenty of dates in that time too; it would be weirder if Villain hadn't, so smooth and beautiful and interesting as they were. And Hero was the one who cut contact, so they didn’t really care what Villain did or who with, though maybe they should be focusing more on the criminal part of things, namely the imminent danger they would be in if they were found out, not just as a member of the agency but as Hero.

"Y-you don't want to make an appearance?" Hero said, attempting composure. It was not their best work.

"And ruin all your hard work?" Villain said with a tsk. "Despite what you think, I'm not that ostentatious. Come."

Hero sauntered closer, uncomfortably aware of their longer gait. Shedding one's skin could do many things, but it could not alter height. Bones were stubborn, painful things to change. Most people didn't notice a few-inch difference, and slouching, heels, or any manner of things could hide it. A familiar face blinded even the closest of friends and family. After all, shapeshifting wasn’t exactly a go-to suspicion. But Villain knew. Eight years ago they'd gotten good at picking Hero out of a crowd. If anyone was to notice that Remy was too tall, it would be them.

They consciously shortened their steps.

Villain dropped into a seat behind their desk, tossing the moth wings to either side of them. Hero carefully stepped over the curling tails and hesitated behind the criminal's shoulder. They were even more breathtaking up close. Hero had to fight the urge to run their hand down the velvet stretch of one wing. When had they learned to extend their power this way? At least, Hero had to assume the new appendages were due to their power. Abilities tended to have more angles than expected when properly trained. Did that mean Villain had found a trainer? Hero couldn’t imagine it. Their old friend had been so sensitive about using their gifts in front of others, and they’d had no relevant career plans to motivate further development. Though obviously neither of those things were the case now with Villain a criminal and flaunting their buggy affiliation to the world. People could change a lot in 8 years. Maybe Hero just didn’t know them anymore.

Had they been standing here too long?

Lover, Hero! they snapped internally. You're their lover! Do something lovers would do!

Their insides twisted.

They had played lovers dozens of times in their career and all that role entailed. Stepping into another's skin was like stepping into another reality, completely separate from their own. It didn't matter what they did or said, it wasn't them. But suddenly the idea of touching Villain hitched their breath in their throat, and they knew that reaction didn’t come from being Remy.

They would not slip through the cracks in this mask.

Hero gently draped themselves across Villain's back, wrapping their arms tenderly around their neck and tucking their chin against their lean shoulder. Hopefully, Vilain couldn't feel their heart pounding violently into their leather duster.

The centipede on Villain's shoulder took the opportunity of a new nearby surface and skittered up Hero's cheek, tangling its long body between the strands of their hair.

"You can quit the act," Villain said, shrugging Hero off. "No one else is around."

Quit...

Hero's stomach dropped. Did Villain know? How long? When they touched them? Since they entered the room?

"I--"

"And yes, I've checked for cameras. I don't accept building rentals from your family without thoroughly looking it over first."

Hero blinked.

Wait.

No.

They weren't referring to Hero's act. They meant Remy's. Remy's act of affection. Because... Oh. Oh! The relationship was fake!

The relief was intense, unexpected, and quickly smothered. They had a job, and if Villain was a part of it, that was too bad, but it didn't change anything.

Hero hastily grasped for the little they knew of their cover's personality. They'd hosted this party, their family rented this building, and they looked great in a silver ribbon tie.

"Well,” they said sitting on the edge of the desk and crossing one leg cavalierly over the other. “You can never be too careful. Also bug." They tipped their head toward Villain. "Bug."

Villain sighed and parted Hero's hair with careful fingers, manicured nails just scraping their scalp, and plucked up the centipede by its squirming middle. Then, tipping their head way back, they swallowed the entire massive creature in one gulp.

“John Macias is here.” They held up a rose gold tablet to Hero’s face. The screen displayed several panels of camera footage taking place in and directly outside the building. “And Lottie Blake.”

Hero knew both those names. The first was a generous donor to the agency. His funds had bought them a new combat training gym and updated the medical wing. He'd hinted at making the donations more regular, so now he was invited to every banquet, award ceremony, and exclusive event the agency held; he had even been given an extensive inside tour of the facilities. The press and the higher-ups liked to make a big fuss over him, but somehow Hero had the impression he wasn't giving money out of the goodness of his heart. As for Lottie, she was an ex-hero turned celebrity. Hero had been a rookie when she stepped down from the role of team leader and agency posterchild and turned to modeling and influencing, so they'd never met personally. However, they had enough associates in common for Hero to know she had been well-loved.

"Ok, so what's next?” Hero said. The faster they figured out Villain's plan, the faster they could get out of this situation.

“Your favorite part," Villain said. "Shopping.”

***

Hero had been prepared for many things tonight, but they had not prepared to be kneeling on the floor of Lottie Blake’s walk-in closet, rapidly stuffing designer heels and dresses into a garbage sack.

"You take the upstairs, I’ll take the downstairs,” Villain had said once inside--a disconcertingly easy task since Miss Blake's security was with her at the gala. A few guards were posted at the door and around the perimeter of the glamorous building but none had thought it very important to look up.

Villain's wings were even more gorgeous unfurled, pitch black against the night except for a faint silver lining that caught the moonlight, creating a glimmering outline from underneath. If that wasn't enough, the things were enormous, even larger than Villain's armspan. Hero supposed they would have to be to get them into the air, especially holding Hero under the arms. Once again, Hero had feared exposure by the difference in weight, but Villain hadn't said anything.

Inside there had been cameras, but a swarm of ants could look an awful lot like static when they crawled right against the lenses.

Hero shoved one more pair of glittery heels into the sack and then crawled to the closet door, peeking out into the bedroom to ensure they were alone. Finding the room empty, they fished their earpiece out of their pocket and pressed the call button.

"Hero?" came Other Hero's voice.

"So I figured out the heist," Hero said. "It's a robbery. The gala is just a distraction for both Lottie Blake and John Macias while Villain breaks into their houses."

"Seems like a lot of work for something as simple as a robbery."

Hero shrugged but then realized that Other Hero couldn't see them. "Maybe. I'll keep you updated when I find out what Villain is stealing. They're downstairs." A sudden image of the other agency members bursting in flashed across Hero's mind. Shoving Villain down. Crumpling those long moth wings like tissue paper. Revealing themselves as Hero. They suddenly felt nauseous. "I should probably stay undercover for as long as I can. That way I can gather more info."

Other Hero paused. "If you're up to it, I won't complain. But we can't just let criminals rob prominent agency affiliates."

Not if they wanted to continue getting donations.

"I think we should allow at least one hit, so Villain doesn't get suspicious," Hero said. "But we're going to have to come up with a plausible reason to alert Macia's security. One that doesn't involved Villain getting arrested."

"Leave that to me," Other Hero said. "You work on keeping your cover."

The call cut off, leaving Hero in anxious silence on the closet floor.

"Remy."

Hero's stomach leaped and they peeked out of the closet a second time. Villain stood in the bedroom door, carrying nothing but an apple.

They took a large bite and jerked their head behind them. "Ready?"

Hero pushed themselves to their feet and swung the garbage sack over their shoulder."Yeah. Let's go."

Villain peered at the sack as they headed out onto the bedroom balcony. "Quite the haul this time."

"You said to take the upstairs, so I took the upstairs." Hero gave them another quick once over. "Did you get everything you wanted?"

Villain fished a sleek black thumbdrive out of their pocket, rolling it over their fingers with a smile. "You could say I'm satisfied."

Not just any robbery then. But what info could Lottie Blake have that a criminal wanted. She wasn't exactly secretive. In fact, she seemed to enjoy flaunting every little detail of her life. Perhaps it was bank account information? Or past hero records?

No, they shouldn't overthink, all in good time.

"Good," they said.

Villain shoved the drive back into their pocket and stepped up behind Hero, casually wrapping their arms around their middle. Hero held their breath.

Calm down, calm down. You are Remy. Remy is not in love with Villain. Are they?

Villain's chest pressed sturdy and warm against Hero's back as they unfurled their wings, and that second pair of arms, or legs, grabbed their hips, securing them completely as they took flight. Hero had been too focused on their weight the first time to notice just how much care Villain put into transporting them comfortably, no dangling lower-half or painful pressure on one point of their body. Villain had always been thoughtful that way, not that anyone back at school recognized it.

What would it have been like to do this back then? To be held as themself. Before the secrets. Before the fallout.

"Do you ever get tired of it?"

"What?" Villain said.

"Being able to fly. Is it just normal for you? Or is it always amazing?"

"I thought it made you sick?" Villain said.

Hero choked. "Right. It does. But objectively, flying is amazing. So I was just curious. Forget it."

Villain's wing movements were soundless. And along with the long pause, all Hero could hear was the breeze brushing past their ears. Great. They'd screwed up.

"It's always amazing," Villain said suddenly. "I'm not saying I don't take it for granted, but if I was to ever lose this... It would be unbearable."

Villian had always been trapped in their life. In more ways than one. By parents, by circumstances, by expectations. Even if Hero was tricking them right now, possibly leading them into another cage, they were happy that Villain had found some freedom. Is that what had turned him to crime? A search for freedom?

"Villain--"

"Crap." Villain pulled up higher into the sky. Blue and red lights bathed the entire street in flashing blue and red.

Hero cranked their neck back to look up into their frowning face.

"How did they figure out we were coming?"

"Do you think someone saw us at Lottie's house?"

"Maybe. But even so, I don't know how they would've figured out our next target."

"Coincidence? For all we know everyone was tipped off, not just Macias."

Villain didn't respond to that. They just sighed heavily. "Well, that's that ruined."

"What do we do now?" Hero asked tentatively. "Go back to the party?"

"No point. The heroes probably have set up a trap. Hotel?"

Hero's insides went electric. Did Villain not have their own place? What about Remy? Didn't they have a rich family? But the way he was asking made it sound like a plan, not spontaneity. Great, Hero really hadn't wanted to wear this skin overnight.

"Hotel." Hero agreed. "But when you say that, you mean two separate rooms, right? Because you know I need my space--"

"You have your room, Remy."

"Ok, ok, just making sure."

A few minutes later, Villain landed them in an alley. They walked the rest of the way to a hotel just up the block. Not too shabby, but nothing extravagant either.

"Give me your jacket," they demanded just before reaching the door.

"What?"

"Your jacket. Unless you want thrown out before we even check in. People don't always take kindly to a bugman walking through their door. Especially hotels."

"Right!" Hero quickly shrugged off their wool, black coat, and passed it over to Villain. Villain threw it gingerly over their shoulders. It was a bit small for them, so the woman at the desk stared at them a bit strangely, but Hero supposed it was better than moth wings and an extra pair of legs.

Rooms 203 and 204. They walked together up the flight of stairs, stopping just outside their doors.

"I'll check the drive tonight and let you know what I've found in the morning," Villain said.

Or Hero could find out now and report it to Other Hero before morning.

"I could help."

"Ha! No offense, Rems, but I don't trust you with my laptop. You've broken my technology one too many times."

"Ah, well, I offered. Don't complain that I didn't help tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Remy," Villain said, rolling their eyes.

Hero knew that Villain wasn't talking to them. Not really. But for a moment it was so reminiscent of their teenage years. Staying up late. Not wanting to go back to either home.

Their heart squeezed. "Goodnight."

They gently shut the door and let out a long breath as they trudged over to the bed, flopping down face first.

What a nightmare. They couldn't wait to be back in their own skin. They forced themselves off the bed and into the shower where the evidence would wash away quicker. They stripped out of their clothes and rolled their muscles gingerly feeling the skin loosen like wet plaster. It sloughed off in dead sheets, revealing a more freckled skin beneath. Within a few minutes they were back to themselves again, They grabbed a towel from the hook, leaving the water running to break up the shed skin and wash it down the drain.

As they exited the bathroom, Hero dragged the table chair to the vanity and surveyed their face in the mirror. They tugged gently at a stubborn piece of skin, half-peeled under their right eye.

Next, they rubbed at their throat ponderingly, weighing pros and cons. Eventually, they decided to leave the vocal cords intact. Their throat might feel weird and cottony in the morning but hacking up bloody tissue was the last thing they wanted to do right now. Not to mention they’d just be shifting right back tomorrow. Best not to put too much strain on them by overshifting

A loud rap on the door made them leap in their seat.

"Just--just a second!"

They looked rapidly around the room. Clothes…clothes… Where were their clothes?

Hero scrambled toward the bathroom, snatching up water dropped outfit, chasing as the fabric caught on their damp skin. After a lot of hopping and maybe also a bit of fabric stretching, they strode to the door.

They were already grabbing the handle when they remembered their face.

The bit back another curse, and their face exploded with prickles as the newly shed skin encased them once again. Just in time to meet Villain’s off-in-thought face.

Their expression snapped back to alertness with the creak of the door.

"Hey, Remy--"

They froze.

"What?" Hero said, heart pounding. Was the face wrong? They’d spent so long studying it today, surely it wasn’t wrong?

"You're bleeding."

Hero felt their face. Sure enough, a warm streak of blood smeared across their forehead.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Oh, yeah. Just cut myself. You know...shaping my eyebrows."

"Right..."

Hero pressed their palm over the tear and with their other arm leaned casually against the frame. "Did you need something?"

Villain stared at them a moment. "Just curious if you wanted something from the vending machine. I'm asking the desk for an extra pillow and thought I'd grab some drinks or snacks or something on my way back."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Maybe a Coke?"

Villain smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” They paused. “I’ll bring back a bandaid too.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Sure.”

As they stepped away, Hero quickly shut the door. Had Villain reacted strangely? Were they overthinking because of their close call?

Hero sped to the mirror turning their head from side to side. Yep, still exactly like the picture, well except for the cut across her forehead.

There would have been no reason to question them, right? They probably didn’t need to call Other Hero and worry them over nothing.

Hero sat back on the bed, only vaguely annoyed that they’d need to rushed part of their body all over again. The annoyance was eclipsed by the gnawing worry inside of l them. They really hoped they hadn’t gotten anything wrong,

[randomshyperson]

What They Will Say About Us - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: A love from the past returns, and Wanda gets a second chance to make it right. But some decisions are easier in their concepts than in reality.

Warnings: milf!Wanda angst hours, implied internalized homophobia, hidden making out, attempts to Judaism references, and mentions of past relationships. | Words: 1.727k

A/N-> I blame the movie Disobedience and the song of the title name (by FINNEAS) for this one.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

It was such a risky idea, honestly.

Wanda had no reason to be in the Synagogue this afternoon, other than her personal motivations of course, which came down to an old friend in town. 

The black sheep returns, she heard, from a good dozen people. It made her stomach turn. Wanda wishes she could have summoned the same courage as you, years before, and left everything behind. Fought her own father like you did and had the minimum of happiness like she imagines you found in New York.

Or at least, Wanda likes to believe so. When she thinks of your adolescents, stolen moments here and there, and how you left without hesitation, she must believe that what was out there was better. It made you happier, at least.

The Synagogue was crowded and it was too risky to look around that much. Wanda felt watched from all sides - whether it was Pietro and Crystal, or Erik and Natalya, she had the impression that all eyes were on her. As if everyone knew how much she wanted to stare at you.

Your presence there was noticed very easily and commented on by everyone. The choice of black clothes, the outrageous jeans for the traditional community, every strand of rebelliously messy hair. 

Everyone looked at you as if you were a crime against everything the faith stood for, but Wanda looked at you as if you were a masterpiece.

The small sarcastic smile as you mumbled Hebrew as you entered, the almost non-existent nod before ignoring your sister's simple request to take the seat next to her and avoid any commotion, your determined steps to the small group standing around having a conversation.

Every inch diminished between you two made Wanda's heart skip a beat.

"Shalom Adonai." You greeted, interrupting whatever conversation was going on between Wanda's family. She tried to disguise how much she was begging for your attention, but you caught every stolen glance, the smile at the corner of her lips getting harder to hide and bringing a warmth underneath her own dress. 

You were embraced by Natalya, tenderly, around the neck. She had always liked you, Wanda remembered. 

"Shalom Adonai, Y/N. It's so good to see you home, child." Said the woman so warmly that you almost felt bad for the lack of manners you were about to present.

"Yes, yes, it is good to be back. Would you guys mind if I talked to Wanda for a second?"

She knew she was blushing, and that it only made her father's disgusted expression worse. But something about the punk-rock attitude made them assume that you might cause a scene if you were denied, and Erik just nodded in agreement. 

You offered Wanda a smile, invading her personal space only to go around her, grabbing her hand in the process. 

She followed you through the halls to an empty room, as she would have followed you to New York if you repeated the invitation.

"Why are you being so shy and quiet?” Your question came on the way, hand in hand with her, when you turned your head for a moment. A tease followed before Wanda could answer. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

She chuckled through her nose, indignant at something so absurd. She had been happy to the point of barely sleeping properly for the past few days since the news that you were in town reached her house, and she longed for a visit that never happened. It was foolish to think that you would come to their parent's home, not when you were revisiting family after so long. But at least in the Synagogue, Wanda found you. Or the other way around.

You stopped walking in a dimly lit room, at the exit of a staircase that no one would pass after the meeting had begun. It was a cramped space that the younger ones used to hide from chores, that you, Wanda, and Pietro had used many times as teenagers.

You challenged her then. You loosened her hand to rummage in your pockets and took out a lighter and a different cigarette, wrapped in silk. It was only to elicit a reaction from the woman in front of you, who widened her eyes as if you were the devil itself and grabbed your hands.

"You can't-"

"I'm just messing with you, Princess." You retorted with an easy smile, shoving the items back into your pocket, and to the end of the other's sanity, your hands moved to hers again before Wanda could pull away completely. "You haven't changed a bit."

Her shaky breath tickled your cheek. 

"You did." She murmurs affectedly, looking at everything but your face, and mostly at your hands together. Your fingers playing with hers. "You cut your hair, and your clothes...it suits you."

You hum distractedly, Wanda has no idea it's because of her perfume. So many years, and she messes with you the same way. Licking your lips, you try to bring clarity to your own thoughts.

"I heard you were getting married." You state then, and Wanda has to look at you, frowning.

"What? How-? I-I-"

You chuckle, taking in every trace of the face you missed so much. "Your mother invited me to the engagement feast." You explain casually. "I dismissed an event, so imagine my surprise when I heard you dumped the guy's ass..."

Wanda bit back a smile, she shouldn't laugh at this. At the shame she had put her family through; the most rebellious act of her entire life, dismissing a rich, Jewish, and proper fiancé. Chosen by god and her parents.

"Sorry for the inconvenience in your schedule." She returns, teasing, her eyes sparkling the way they only get around you.

You smile, interlacing your fingers together and bringing an immediate wave of nervousness to the woman in front of you. The gentle tug lessened the distance.

"I just got through packing up and ran over here." You murmur then, a very sincere and vulnerable look in your eyes suddenly.

Wanda swallows dryly, her heart hammering. "Oh, really?"

Your smile didn't falter, but your eyes did. "Do you remember... what I told you when I left?"

Wanda could hear her heart in her ears. She nodded, and you moved her hands to your waist. She gasped, overwhelmed with the longing for you, with the love she had kept for so many years. Her burning face was hidden in your collarbone, and you chuckled, equally affected, you slipped your arms around her to reassure her.

"I said I'd come back at any second if there was a risk of losing you to anyone, Wands." You whispered against her, even as she confirmed that she remembered. "And here I am. I hope not too late."

She shook her head frantically, drawing another laugh. You were tormenting her after all, how audacious. Wanda grimaced, and brushed her lips against your neck first, enjoying the flinch, before sinking her teeth in your skin.

You whimpered, low against her ear. Wanda licked the bite and sucked until she had a mark and you were soft against her, melting.

"Wanda." You called out, and she pulled away in the same second, only to firm her mouth on yours. 

It was exactly as she remembered it, but even better. You tasted like peppermint candy and coffee, and it was too delicious for Wanda not to squeeze your sides and push you against the wall. 

Your tongue slid into hers until her head spun and her knees buckled. The sermon began downstairs, and the music drowned out any gasping sounds that escaped her lips.

Wanda took advantage of it.

You were out of breath when you let go, and your hair seemed wilder than before. Your hands were dangerously beneath her blouse, gripping her waist directly by the skin. The strong squeeze would be enough to mark, and Wanda would have to be careful about changing clothes at home.

"Run away with me." You gasped suddenly, and Wanda stopped breathing. 

She had a flashback, so many years before, where you were much younger and much more insecure, and she was terrified. And you asked the same question and began to cry as Wanda shook her head in the negative. 

"Detka..." She started uncertainly, not with the same fears as years ago, but with the same cowardice. 

You had changed more than she had, and your eyes were as firm as your tone.

"I have an apartment and a job." You reasoned, your hands releasing her waist to hold her face. "All the stability and security I couldn't give you at 17, I have it now. I got it all so I could be with you, princess. Run away with me, Wanda. Please."

Her eyes burned. "My family would hate me." And you knew it was true, yet you still loved Wanda the same way you did when you were seventeen.

"I would be your family." You assure her, caressing her cheeks tenderly. "And we...we could make a family of our own, too."

Wanda sobbed softly, returning to her original position, her face hidden in your collarbone. You almost began to cry too, but you busied yourself with holding her, smoothing her hair until you had her definitive answer.

"It's a beautiful dream, detka." She whispers against your skin, her arms tightening around you. "The best one there is."

You kissed the top of her head. "Let me make it come true, Wands."

She sobs, and the music there and low ends. Wanda needs to stop crying before someone comes to check, so she does so quickly, wiping away the tears and almost hiding them from you. 

"Reality would tear us apart." She declares, but you deny it with a nod, offering her a sad smile before moving closer to kiss her forehead. Wanda almost tugs you away, but like years ago, she flinches.

You sigh and face her in the eyes. "I wish you would dare to love me as I love you, Wanda."

Her gaze begs for sympathy, but you can't give it to her now. You turn your back on her and leave her alone on the staircase, and it's as if Wanda can hear the memories echoing in that space.

Maybe one day, she will find the courage to follow you.

[leynaeithnea]

I didnt get an ask for this BUT WE'RE BACK

my Wisdom saga reaction/analysis!!!!!

26. Legendary

TELEMACHUS MY BOYYYY

THE MELODY AT THE BEGINNING OF LEGENDARY IS SO COOL

the instruments aaah, lowkey obssessed

"its jus tme myself and i" perimedes would like u

"living in this world you left behind".........this song makes oyu think so much about what life has been in Ithica in those years since Odysseus had to leave, he was loved, he is *King*, AH

"dreaming of all these monster, that ill never to get to fight" better this way, u dont wanna end up like your daddy

"but boy i wish i could so i could bring the world some light" BABY BOY

"Cause I'm stuck with your stories, but no clue who you are And no idea if you're dead or just too far" his mother wouldve told him so many stories :aniTears:

"Somebody tell me, come and give me a sign if I fight those monsters, is it you I'll find?" PLS HE jusT WANTS TO FIND HIS DAD GIVE THIS MAN HIS FATHER

"If so, then give me sirens and a cyclops Give me giants and a hydra" hes just naming every monster he can think of of the myths he grew up with

"I know life and fate are scary but I wanna be legendary" U GO BOY; I LOVE YOU, also such a mood

"I'll fight the harpies and chimeras, the Minotaur, even Cerberus I know life and fate are scary but I wanna be l-l-l-l-legendary"....yea same like the two parts before, any monster he can think of, he gotta be one of us kids who read a lot

THEN The droppp in his voice, HE SOUNDS SO SCARED

"There are strangers in our halls" That must be TERRIFYING, just imagine that, dozens of men in your home just prying on your mother and youre too young to do anything rly

"Trying to win the heart of my mom, but she is standing tall" THAT VOCAL PERFORMANCE, W FOR PENELOPE; GIRLBOSS

"108 old faces of men who call me small" EW; 108 IS SO MANY BRO; SO MANY????? Also "old faces" ISJGSEIGJ "who call me small" boy, i feel so bad for you

"They keep taking space and it's not much longer we can stall" !!!! HES WORKING WITH HIS MOTHER TRYING TO HOLD THEM OFF; AH AAAAH, also fuck them, leave their home alone, god he must feel so unsafe in his own home :screams:

"'Cause they're getting impatient, dangerous too" oh no :( so scared lil boy

"And I would fight them if I was half as strong as you" HE LOOKS UP TO HIM SO MUCH AH

"Somebody help me, come and give me the strength Can I do whatever it takes to keep my mom safe?" HES ALSO A MOMMY BOY; AND HONESTLY GOOD FOR HIM; STAND BY HER SIDE; U GO BOY, 🥹

Chrous SLAPs

"Where is he? Where is the man who'll have you to wife? " bitch stay away (also cut song reference!)

"Where is he? Where is the man with whom you'll spend your life?" HE IS ON His WAY HOme SO STAY THE FUCK AWAYYYYYYYY ARGG ILL FIGHT U

"Cause it's been 20 years, 20 years" 20 FUCKING YEARS??? THATS AS OLD AS I AM (and telemachus for that measure, same age, yay!) BUT BRO IMAGINE WAITING FOR YOUR HUSBAND TO COME HOME FOR 20 YEARS; PENELOPE X ODY OTP; PENELOPE FIGHTING OFF 108 SUITORS FOR 20 YEARS AND ODY FIGHTING OF *GODS* Trying TO TRAP AND USE AND KEEP HIM, THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER

"And we still have no king" >:) >:) imagine an island without leader for 20 years oh boy h boy, the power vacuum, 108 people who want to take his place

"Give me a chance, a single opportunity and I'll overcome these obstacles and scrutiny and-" HE WANTS TO SO BADLY he juST DOESNT KNOW HOW AND WHEre TO START BC AH, also the music sounds like he just tries to sneak around his palace, to not get caught by the suitors, dodging and on guard, i can just imagine him ducking his head and looking at every corner for smth danger-

"Boy".......that slapped hard, FUCK YOU ANTINOUS (hi perimedes :) )

"When's your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband?" FUCK YOU STAY AWAY (the dELIVERY)

"OoooOOoh" we have a new choir! the crew is ded but we have the suitors now hah, ill take it, love me some choir responses

"Why don't you open her room so we can have fun with her?" THE AUDACITY? WHORE FUCKING BASTARD STAY THE FUCK AWAY

"Dont you dare, call my mother a tramp" U GO BOY; TELL HIM (be careful, dont get hurt) THE VOCAL DELIVERY OF THAT LINE IS SO gOOD

"OoooOOoh" chiorr

" I just did, Whatchu gonna do about it, champ?" FUCK OFF ANTINOUS, DONT BE SO SMUG FUCK U

"Somebody tell me, Come and give me a sign, If I fight this monster, Is it you I'll find?" u desrve your dad so much, he'll come home, promise...promise....hold on, be stronk, u got this boy, also "this monster" its none from your stories, no this is real, its worse its right infront of you AH

Sorry for the swearing :") AH I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH, ONE OF MY FAVS FOR SURE (...we'll come back after recency bias but i dont think itll change)

EDIT: DANGER MOTIF WHEN ANTINOUNS JOINS IN!!!!! (are there more? im new to this PLS TELL ME)

@lorethebookworm

[timeloop-observer]

time loop Stands For Some Things question mark? mostly just curious about your interpretation of the metaphor(s) there as someone only vaguely familiar with the game. sorry for stumbling on your special interest blog and asking for the literal ABCs of isat im just soo questions

ok well the thing is the things that the loop stands for in isat are Big Spoilers. so uh, go into the read more at your own discretion? also keep in mind this is just my interpretation

the way i see it, the loops can be read psychologically and metawise. psychologically, it's all about being trapped in patterns of behavior. conversations that you've already had dozens of time before, things that you and the people around you keep doing, cycles that repeat for no one's benefit, safe for the unintended effect of not having to change or open up about your issues. siffrin keeping himself and his party hostage by not being vulnerable with them but refusing to let them leave out of fear and love. and thus making the same mistakes and doing the same things over and over until they get so burnt out and mess up so hard it threatens to Ruin Everything (where the game once again ramps up siffrin's subjective perception to cosmic cataclysm proportions via wish craft).

metawise, isat is also a commentary on how hard it is to leave a good game behind. the story is framed as the endgame area of a different jrpg (which i'll refer to as "the larger game" from here on out) for a reason: siffrin is effectively the player being unable to reckon with the fact the larger game is almost over. running around with different sidequests, trying to find more ways to spend time with the characters, feeling the endgame grind of fighting against enemies time and time again for exp, doing anything and everything to just not let the game go. it even escalates to the point of their attachment becoming warped, ironically getting so invested that they wind up flattening the complexities of the story and characters that they loved so much it caused this (siffrin with their stageplay metaphors paralleling how some people become hyperaware of the fact they're "playing a game" and "trying to 100% it" which ironically even happens to isat).

the two allegories are in my opinion two sides of the same silver coin and serve as another element of what makes siffrin so compelling (not to mention relatable, i only thought of the psychological angle because i sometimes feel like i'm in a timeloop when a depressing situation happens that has happened before- I MEAN WHAT).

[griffther]

there’s so many ppl enabling me in the notes of this post, so here enjoy some Thoughts i’ve had about the nurseydex maine road trip so far:

they do a road trip up the coast of maine over fall break their senior year so that nursey can see acadia national park while the leaves are changing

william “acts of service” poindexter decides that it is his Responsibility as nursey’s captain and fellow d-man to become maine’s official tour guide barbie. he plans the entire thing out and even prints them little itineraries and maps and shit because this boy is nothing is not Efficient

nursey makes them stop to see every single lighthouse they go anywhere near just to be a little shit (there are 65 lighthouses in maine, this would take So Long even if you just stopped at like a quarter of them)

the only canonical reference i could find for any actual locations in maine in the comic is that dex said his uncle who owned the lobster fishing boat he worked on over the summers lived in portland

(a side note to the above, i find this hilarious. portland is an pretty solidly liberal urban city - imagine a very small boston - and not somewhere you’re very likely to find small family-owned lobster fishing boats, at least in my experience. it would make way more sense for his uncle to live somewhere like rockland but i digress)

dex is 100% positive that nursey would Love portland so he carves out two whole days of their trip for them to stay with his uncle and explore. they go to the art museum and old port and the port head lighthouse and the top of the world lookout at fort sumner park and all the little shops and hidden places dex had found from living there every summer for years

nursey does end up loving portland but it might be more about the boy that shows it to him

even though his uncle lives in portland, i am still personally convinced that dex’s family mostly lives around the rockland area. i will go on a rant about nursey meeting dex’s close family another time, but while they’re in rockland, nursey continues his dedication to seeing all the lighthouses he can by forcing dex to make the almost mile long trek out to the breakwater lighthouse with him (don’t think about them standing alone next to this little building almost a mile out from land. the wind is chilly and strong and it makes dex’s hair look ridiculous and his cheeks flush and nursey definitely doesn’t want to kiss him ITS FINE ITS CHILL)

dex has them make a detour up to bangor and surprises nursey with going to see stephen king’s house. he doesnt understand why people are interested in looking at some dudes house At All but he does know nursey would love it so he does it anyways. the fence is cool and nursey gets so excited he almost face plants jumping out of the car, so dex counts it as a success

some random places i feel like dex would make them stop at along the way: freeport (nursey is both so confused and so delighted by just Everything about that place, but he loses his mind over the mcdonald’s and the ll bean outlet), ogunquit (dex purposefully takes highway 1 instead of the maine turnpike going towards portland so that they drive through ogunquit and he can see nursey’s face when he realizes they’re driving through the single gayest town he’s ever seen in his life and it’s in southern maine), moose point state park (there are a billion lil state parks in maine but i just randomly like this one in particular idk i think it’s cute), camden hills state park (it’s too foggy when they get there to drive up to the top so nursey makes them go on a hike instead so they didn’t “waste their time.” they get lost within like 10 minutes and are wet from the fog by the time they make it back to the car like 2 hours later), the desert of maine (it’s kinda boring to dex bc he’s seen it a dozen times since he was a kid, but nursey gets enthralled by the science behind it so it’s worth it), cushing (this is where the famous painter andrew wyeth lived at the olson house and was the subject of a lot of his work and i just feel like nursey would have fun seeing this place)

when they eventually make it to acadia, nursey ends up spending like two solid hours just sitting at sargent peak staring out over everything and desperately scrawling out lines of poetry into his notebook (dex spends most of those 2 hours staring at nursey but somehow doesn’t notice that nursey definitely isn’t writing about the scenery)

[ddoubleblindd]

Everyone's a Catgirl! Ch. 1: The Bench

It all happened so fast. “You Died” didn’t flash before my eyes. There wasn’t a guardian angel or that “light at the end of the tunnel.” I didn’t even get the memory reel that everyone talks about.

Just a giant vastness of nothing.

When my consciousness returned, it didn’t come with a body. Well, it kind of did, but not the corporeal flesh-golem I’m used to. It was more like an outline, hinting at where the edges of my skin should be. I thought I’d lost all five senses before I found myself standing in a room, staring at the hinted shapes of other people.

Dead people?

There were a lot of ways I’d imagined the afterlife, and this definitely wasn’t one of them. I was in the lobby of an enormous building flooded with stringent white light. Rooms lined the hallways to my left and right, extending further than I could see. Each section was closed off by glass panels, allowing curious onlookers to peer into what looked like courtrooms. Stern-faced judges in black robes sat at the head of every room while other souls—at least, that’s what I assumed they were—stood at the defendant’s table. The whole setting had a dream-like quality that I couldn’t seem to shake, but something told me that this was very, very real.

“Am I in hell?” I wondered aloud, happy to hear my own voice emit from a source that I was sure had lost its lungs.

“I dunno, man. I just got here.” Another form next to me shrugged. “But this sure is my idea of hell.”

I wanted to panic, or run, or do anything but stand there and stare into what was sure to be my final judgment. This was all too fast and too damn soon—I’d just barely turned twenty. I couldn’t be dead yet.

“Matthew Kelmer?” a kind voice called over the crowd. I looked up to see a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than me but contained a more solid-looking body. Her blonde hair fell in waves just past her curved hips, and she wore a sharp black jacket with a tight skirt and brightly colored scarf. Made me think of a sexy flight attendant.

“That’s me,” I said, stepping past the other souls.

Her smile was brilliant and unnervingly comforting. But what else was I going to take comfort in? “Come with me, please.”

“Hey! What’s the deal? He just got here!” a man in the back shouted.

“This way, please,” she repeated, ignoring the outcry.

There was an annoyed grumbling from the heckler. I squared my shoulders and fell into step behind the stranger.

“Where am I?” I asked once we were far enough away from the crowd.

“Surely you’ve heard of purgatory?” she asked.

“Well, yeah.” I realized that being called back so quickly probably wasn’t the best thing to happen in purgatory. “Wait, did I stamp a one-way ticket to hell or something?”

“No, silly. Quite the opposite. Here, please.” She stopped in front of a large metal door and held it open for me. It was one of the only rooms not sectioned off by glass.

I stepped inside and waited. “Who are you?”

“My name is Leiana. I’m one of the managers of purgatory.”

“Managers?”

“Your world refers to them as goddesses, I believe.”

I wanted to pinch myself and wake up. But there was nothing to pinch. “Um. Okay.”

“You see, Matthew—”

I bristled. “Just Matt is fine.”

A corner of her smile twitched downward, but her cheerful demeanor remained. “Your heroic death has earned you another chance. A new life in a different world.” She circled an oak desk and took a seat.

My what? In a what? A dozen questions assaulted me. “Valiant death?”

A virtual display appeared above her desk with a few presses of her fingers. A movie in stunning high definition began to play, and I watched in silence. It was me at the gym I’d been standing in not an hour before.

I was lying on the bench, preparing to do a bench press without a spotter. Who the hell needed a spotter? It didn’t look that hard. I’d never done one before, but I knew the other girls in the gym loved to watch guys compete against each other with the weights. And there was a girl there I had my eye on.

“You battled against this metal beast with such courage!” Leiana exclaimed.

The dots began to connect. Oh, Jesus Christ. In the video, it was clear that I hadn’t secured the weights well. Briana, the girl I’d been hoping to catch the attention of, had noticed. She’d jogged over to the bench just as I lifted the bar. Her lips were moving, and she was waving her arms, but I’d had my headphones in and didn’t hear her.

“See how you struggled!” Leiana clasped her hands and swooned. “You protected her with all your might.”

Yeah, I struggled, alright. As I pushed harder on the bar, my face turned beet-red, and the veins in my throat pulsed against my skin. I’d racked up almost three hundred pounds—nearly twice my weight.

The bar tilted in my unsure grip, and my arms buckled. As my shoulders gave out, the bar hurtled toward me past the catches on either side and crushed my windpipe. I must have died instantly. Briana sunk to her knees and plucked out my earbuds, shouting words I couldn’t make out.

“And as all tragic romances end, true love’s kiss,” Leiana crooned.

Briana had tried to give me CPR. I wanted to crawl under Leiana’s desk. I hadn’t even stayed alive long enough to feel her lips on mine, goddammit. The screen went dark.

“I could not let your judgment pass without offering another chance.” Leiana sighed. “These are the stories that go down in history.”

God, I hope not. I had no idea what to say. “So, another chance?”

“Yes. As a manager, you see, I can grant second chances to special cases such as yours. There are hundreds of other worlds that could use your strength and valor, with a few stipulations, of course.”

“Such as?”

Leiana giggled. “It depends on the world! Every world has its own set of rules.” She replayed the video from the beginning. “Goodness, I believe I could watch this for eternity.”

And now I’m in hell. “Can we talk about the other worlds?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Let’s see what we have available.” She closed the window and opened a new one—something akin to a spreadsheet program. Names and languages I’d never seen nor heard of scrolled by at a blazing speed. Her smile wavered. “Hmm.”

“What?” I was beginning to wonder if I’d rather risk it with the judge. I hadn’t done anything too terrible in life to deserve eternal damnation, right?

“Well, you see, I only have three worlds available at the moment.”

“Out of that whole list?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

“There are many specifications, requirements, overrides, and a lot of paperwork that goes into such a feat. But we’ll make the best of it, Matthew, I promise you!”

“Matt,” I corrected flatly.

“Of course, Matt!” The giant list condensed down to three names, all composed of symbols I didn’t recognize. She selected the first title, and a screen filled with bar graphs and pie charts overlayed the spreadsheet. “So, our first potential world has a moderate difficulty rating, a balanced monster score, and vast opportunity for growth!”

“Difficulty rating? Monster scores?” I probably couldn’t feel dizzy, but I took a seat in the chair across from Leiana’s desk anyway. “Like a video game?”

“Yes! Very much like the video games of your world. You must complete tasks and earn yourself a place in their society by honing your attributes and gaining Skills.”

“Are you saying I have to level up?”

“Something like that.”

“Are all worlds like this?”

“No. However, the three available are.”

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. I’d played enough games to have a handle on that sort of system. “What are the rules of this one?” I gestured to the graphs.

“You must begin life anew as a dungeon.”

I paused. “A what?”

“A dungeon. It’s very popular, from what I understand.”

I pictured dark, scummy caves filled with bats and spiders and bears. I imagined smelling like stale water and mold. “Who the hell would want to be a dungeon?”

“Well, many before you have chosen this option, but we can move on,” Leiana mumbled, seeming distraught. She quickly regained her composure and pulled up the second set of charts. “Our second world begins in the Kingdom of Rhodes. The difficulty rating is low, the monsters are on the gentler side, and magic powers the realm.”

Boring. I’d played every JRPG on the planet. The last thing I wanted to do was live in a tropey, easy fantasy land. “Next.”

“You don’t wish to hear the rules?”

“No. Next?”

Leiana sighed and pulled up the third name. The graphs for this one looked more intense compared to the other two. She chewed her bottom lip and glanced at me before looking back at the hologram.

“What?” My interest piqued.

“Well, the difficulty rating is quite extreme, and the monster score is on the higher end of what I’m familiar with. And, well—” she trailed.

This sounded interesting. “Well, what?”

“Everyone’s a catgirl.”

If I still had a heart, it would have stopped. “Wait. It’s a world full of catgirls?”

“Yes.”

“Like girls with cat ears and tails?”

Leiana narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“Do I have to be a dungeon?” There had to be some stupid catch. This was way too good to be true.

“I do not believe so.”

“Do I have to be a catgirl?”

She opened another document and glanced through the illegible script. “No. Per their stipulations, you would arrive just as you were before you passed. But your attributes and profile would be entirely reset. Matt, I don’t—”

“I’m going there.” I leaped from the chair. My head swirled with pictures of beautiful, petite girls with adorable kitty ears and bells. “Send me there.”

Leiana drummed her fingers along the top of her desk as she stared up at me. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Catgirls wearing maid outfits, in silk lingerie, in bathing suits. It was like the ultimate dream come true.

She paused. “The difficulties will be immense. We cannot change this decision once you’ve made it.”

“I understand.” What part of “Send me” didn’t she get?

She frowned. “You are certain, then?”

“I’m more than certain.” How many times was she going to ask me? I didn’t care how hard it was or how awful the grind could be. It was a whole damn world of catgirls. I wanted nothing more. “Send me.”

“As you wish.” She stood and signed off on the bottom of the stipulations sheet. “Your necessary tools will be given to you after you arrive. Please check your inventory.”

“Wait? How do I do that?” In a video game, my inventory was accessed by a button. How did someone pick through a physical inventory? Would I get a suitcase or something?

She ignored my question and made a series of hand signals. A warm glow surrounded her fingers, and her final gesture pointed toward me. “For your valor, Matthew Kelmer. Be reborn!”

For the second time that day, the world went dark.

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[dameronscopilot]

Somebody's Someone

Mitch Keller x f!reader

Summary: In which you discover your feelings for Mitch Keller might not be so one-sided after all on a fateful New Year's Eve spent working at the bar.

Word Count: 2k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, first kiss, fingering, the rings stay on, protective Mitch

Prompt: New Year's Eve kiss

DECK THE HALLS MASTERLIST

When the clock strikes midnight on a bustling, rowdy New Year’s Eve at Bred 2 Buck, couples, friends, and strangers alike all raise their glasses. People lean in, exchanging a variety of kisses—chaste ones, playful ones, meaningful ones, and downright lewd ones from a select few that are a few too many drinks deep. 

As the scene plays out in front of you, your hands pause in their endeavor to wipe down the table you’re currently clearing off, and despite your best efforts not to, you can’t help the way your gaze strays to a certain someone standing behind the bar. Your face heats up when you find that Mitch is already looking in your direction, and he tips his hat, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he turns away to serve a customer. 

In the months since you began waitressing at the bar, it’s proven to be a chore in and of itself to ignore just how attracted to him you are. A mutual friend that heard you were in need of a job had referred you, talking you up enough that Mitch wasn’t even concerned about interviewing you first, so you didn’t end up meeting him until you arrived for your first day at work. 

Professionalism be damned, your heart had skipped a beat when he’d stepped out from the counter to greet you that afternoon, all rolled-up sleeves and soulful blue eyes, hair curling out from underneath his hat. If that wasn’t enough, you were well and truly fucked at the sound of your name on his lips as he shook your hand—his warm drawl stroking each and every letter like hot molasses. 

But Mitch Keller is your boss, and even if none of the various rings adorning his fingers indicate that he’s a married man, you’re certain he has someone he goes home to at night. After all, how could a man like him not? 

And thus you’ve let your feelings for him simmer hopelessly, tucked away in a liminal space, one that aches with yearning far more often than you care to admit. 

It almost feels awkward to carry on working amongst the rousing public displays of affection that follow the end of the countdown—as if Mitch can somehow feel the longing that's boiling over inside of you each time your eyes pass over his form, momentarily transfixed watching his fluid movements as he works. As if he can see the images passing through your head, all the places inside of the bar that you've imagined him pulling you aside, finally taking you into his arms to kiss you.

As you’re leaning against the counter waiting for Mitch to pass you drinks for a table, a man that’s been leering at you on and off all night spins around on his stool, nodding in your direction.

“You got a New Year’s kiss, baby?” he asks, words slurring into one another.

You ignore him—patrons like this are a dime a dozen, especially when they’re drunk. Instead, you keep your eyes trained on Mitch as he makes his way back over to where you’re standing, several glasses gathered in his arms. 

“Playin’ hard to get, I like it,” the man laughs gruffly, taking a long pull from his cup.

Mitch places the drinks on the tray for you, and you offer him a small smile before beginning to walk away, but you turn back around at the feeling of something tugging on the apron wrapped around your waist.

“I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you.” The flirtatious edge is gone from his voice, lips curled upward in a sneer. 

No sooner than the words have left his mouth, the man lets out an undignified yelp. Mitch is leaning over the bartop, one hand firmly gripping the spot where the man’s neck meets his shoulder. 

“You can leave,” Mitch says cooly. 

Gesturing toward his half-empty glass, the man argues, “Ain’t finished with my drink.”

His face contorts in pain as Mitch tightens his hold on him. “I don’t fuckin’ care. Get out.”

Throwing both hands in the air, the man stands up, brusquely shrugging out of Mitch’s grip and muttering to himself as he shuffles off toward the door. You watch him go for a moment, heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

“You okay?” There’s a tentative touch against your forearm as Mitch comes to stand beside you, tossing the towel in his hands over his shoulder. 

Offering him another smile, you nod. “Yeah, thanks Mitch.” 

He looks like he wants to say more, but a customer waves him down, and he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly before walking away.

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful in comparison, but by the time the bar clears out, you’re all too aware of the fact that you’re alone with Mitch. You’re in the middle of refilling a salt shaker when you hear his boots scuff against the floor as he comes to stand beside you.

He begins to fill one of the other shakers lined up on the table and comments, “Thanks for stayin’ late tonight to help out. You didn’t have to.”

You nudge him with your arm, scoffing, “Two of the girls called in sick. You know I’d never hang you out to dry like that.”

Mitch shrugs, tightening the cap on the container. “I feel bad though, I’m sure you had plans.”

Snorting, you straighten the napkin holder. “Yeah right. I feel bad for you though. I’m sure someone’s not happy to have you coming home so late tonight.”

He scratches the back of his head. “There’s…no someone.”

“Oh, I just figured…”

Waving you off, he responds gruffly, “Nah, just hasn’t really been on my mind lately between my dad and taking care of the bar. Nobody wants to get involved with someone like me, anyway.”

“That’s not true.”

Mitch pauses, turning to look at you, his expression unreadable. “You don’t need to butter me up, sweetheart. I know who I am.”

The few feet of space between the two of you feels cavernous in the silence of the room, and you take a step forward. “I mean it.”

He moves toward you, the toe of his boot nudging your shoe as he further closes the gap. “What’re you tryin’ to say?”

Well, fuck it.

“That I still need a New Year’s kiss.”

His eyes widen for a moment. And for as many times as you’ve imagined it, nothing can quite compare to the way Mitch’s gaze burns into yours as he lifts a hand to cup the side of your face, his thumb stroking your jaw. 

“You sure about that?” he asks, 

“Yeah, Mitch. I’m sure. Been thinking about it all night.” 

He tilts his head slightly, a lazy grin tracking its way across his lips. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot longer than that, honey.”

And he leans in, his lips hovering over yours for a moment before sliding his hand further along your face, fingers brushing the back of your neck as his thumb rests against your earlobe. Your breath hitches in your throat, and Mitch closes the gap, kissing you softly.

Warmth blooms in your chest as he brings his other hand up, cradling your face while his lips slide against your own. There’s familiarity in the way Mitch kisses you, regardless of the fact that this is the very first time it’s ever happened, like perhaps he’s spent just as much time memorizing the curve of your lips as you have with his.

You let your mouth fall open for him, and the kiss grows deep and heated. There's a fervent hunger in the way Mitch's mouth claims yours, one that nearly has you swaying on your feet as you yield to it.

The back of Mitch's knees bump into a chair as you press into him, and he sits down, swiftly pulling you into his lap. Your legs straddle his waist as he wraps his arms around you. At this angle, the bill of his hat bumps into your face, and he chuckles as you bat it off of his head and onto the table beside you. 

You bring your lips back to his, reveling in the feeling of his beard and mustache as they scrape against your face—and your mind wanders as you begin to imagine how they would feel pressed against other parts of your body. 

With Mitch’s hands gripping your hip bones and your body molded against his while he kisses you hard, you shift yourself slightly in his lap. Heat courses through your abdomen as you feel something firm press at the apex of your thighs, and you roll your hips into the sensation. Mitch groans into your mouth when you grind down on his erection, fingers slipping up under your shirt as he splays his large hand flat across the small of your back.

“Mitch,” you whine quietly as he anchors you against him, pushing up into you. 

“What d’you need, sweetheart?” 

You grasp his free hand, placing it against the front of your jeans, keening as he slides two fingers across the taught seam. He takes your bottom lip into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, and he cups your mound at the same time that he bites down, sending a scorching sensation down your spine.

He flicks the button of your pants open with his thumb, slowly dragging down the zipper before hooking a finger on the waistband of your underwear. His lips blaze a trail across your cheek and down your neck as he slips his hand inside, an appreciative groan rumbling in his throat when his fingers encounter your slick folds.

“Like this?” he asks, teasingly running a finger along your slit. He begins to suck at the skin on your collarbone, setting your nerves alight. 

“More,” you pant, rocking into his touch.

Mitch slides a digit into your entrance, and you gasp at the cold feeling of the ring on his finger pressing into your cunt. 

“You want me to take–”

“Leave it on,” you plead, chest heaving.

Mitch lets out a hum of approval, letting the digit slide further inside of you, the cool feeling of metal a direct contrast to your warm, wet channel. You shiver at the sensation, moaning as he twists his hand slightly, letting divots in the large emblem on the ring rub against your walls.

His voice is low when he asks, “You like that?” 

In response, you kiss him hard, lips slotting together messily as his mouth quickly engulfs yours. He inserts another finger into your cunt, pulling shameless sounds out of you when he crooks them, massaging your inner walls. 

You let your lips drag away from Mitch’s mouth, and he tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck to you as your teeth graze his skin. You bite down, and he moans, increasing the speed at which his fingers are pumping in and out of your soaked channel.

Mitch lifts a hand, bringing your face back to his, eyes blazing. “So fuckin’ wet. You gonna come for me?”

When you nod frantically, his thumb finds your clit, and he begins rubbing circles into it as he continues to finger fuck you mercilessly. Your limbs go taught, tension coiling firmly in your gut, and Mitch licks his way across the seam of your mouth. Jaw relaxing, you grant him access again, tongue brushing against his.

"Oh fuck," you moan into Mitch's mouth at the feeling of a third digit stretching you even further open, another cold ring slipping through your tight channel.

And when he crooks his fingers while stroking your sensitive bundle of nerves, the heat smoldering within you blazes white-hot. Mitch continues to thrust his slick fingers in and out of your cunt as you arch your back into him, riding out the waves of your orgasm.

When you collapse against him, he leaves his hand tucked inside of your pants for a moment, both of you breathing hard. You eventually lean back slightly to look at him, and he removes his fingers, not breaking eye contact with you as he slides the sticky digits into his mouth to clean them off. In turn, you snake a hand between your bodies, clasping his hard shaft.

He sucks in a sharp breath before kissing you again, and he murmurs against your lips, “Think I need to see you in my office now," gesturing toward the slightly ajar door at the back of the room.

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» MITCH KELLER MASTERLIST

» GARRETT HEDLUND MASTERLIST

[ilexdiapason]

"what is the pearl the bard au, ilex?" im SO glad you asked: a primer

first of all, hello jon, apologies for the deception, but i thought it was necessary to get the traffic people in through their scrunkle, so i didn't call the au by its proper name. this is eswap, the empires swap au, featuring pearlthebard. but i'm gonna tell it from her pov so it's all good

the following is a brief summary of what i refer to as "season one" of pearlthebard, and can be read in its entirety by going to @pearlthebard and reading through the linked directory, but if you don't have time for three months of tumblr rp then here's the gist of it!

Once upon a time, cruel gods named Watchers brought in just over a dozen people to play participants in a sick little game of death and betrayal. Pearl was not there. She was there when they did it for a second time, but she didn't win, so she can't remember it. The third time she prefers to forget, for the most part: it's a big awful blur of self harm and mania and dying and killing and losing everything she ever loved without ever really knowing why.

At the end of Double Life, she stands on a hill and watches the man who would not be her soulmate light himself ablaze, and when he blows up it takes her with him.

At this point, we step out of the narrative briefly, because Pearl the Bard doesn't actually begin with Pearl, not really - it begins with my friend Al going "hey i should make an au where the empires smp season 2 characters are role swapped", and hitting number thirteen Oli TheOrionSound, and going "ah shit well i guess i'll swap him with santa perla that works". Thus, Saint Oli, and Pearl the Bard. However, notably, Pearl cannot map neatly on to Oli's backstory of being isekai'd in from the end of Afterlife SMP, because she wasn't there.

At the end of Double Life, Pearl is blown up, but she does win. And a winner, by the usual metrics, earns a prize.

Saint Oli catches her when the blast flings her soul from her lifeless body, looks this incredibly wet cat up and down, and decides to give her a second chance.

She lands in the Empires SMP.

If you've seen Oli's episodes, which you probably should there were only four of them for the entirety of ESMP S2, you'll know roughly how the story goes from here, but the faces are a little different. She steals a goat horn from Princess Katherine of Dawn, she is jailed by Deputy Sausage of the Goblands, and while she awaits her judgement by the Sheriff Smallishbeans, she hears an awfully familiar voice from the floor of the cave asking what she did to get put in there.

Mayor Smajor of Animalia is a normal man. He runs his empire with a fairly loose grip, but he's proactive about developing a safe space for all animal folk to live among the pretty amethysts and not have to conform to the standards of human society. He, though, he's not an animal, no way, behind this dark mask he's completely human and not a cat. He has a life here, has lived in the Empires for years and founded a community with his own paws hands that he's very proud of.

The weird girl in the cage, the woman who brought two HUGE dogs to his lands and then somehow decided it was his fault for hissing at them that they didn't get on, and the new bard his neighbour Sausage has been gossiping to him about all seem to be disconnected, until they very suddenly aren't.

Pearl is a mystery to Scott. Despite him never having seen her before in his life, she seems convinced that he's either a regret or a danger, and she even goes so far as to stab him to death rather than tell him what the hell is her problem with him. He gets a little bit obsessed, if he's honest - finds her house to show up at it, insists that Sausage keep him updated on her, even starts to lose sleep. And when he does sleep he has strange dreams, dreams of being far taller, being tailless, being ten times better with a weapon than the Mayor of Animalia would ever need to be.

Pearl, steadfast in the conviction that the best thing she can do is get far the hell away from this weird, tiny Not-Smajor and never speak to or of him again if possible, runs to the distant shores of Sanctuary. And then squats in the Eversea. And then borrows Joey's spare room in the Evermoore. And every time, some coincidence sends Scott dangerously close to her escape path, forces them to make small talk, gives them both another nightmare of another time that Scott can't remember and Pearl wishes she could forget.

And then eventually they do catch up with one another in the streets of Chromia, and Scott refuses to back down until Pearl admits to him the truth of whether she really belongs in this world and what her connection is to his dreams and why he feels so weirdly, encompassingly guilty when he looks at her, and... well, i won't spoil that, that was a good one, i liked that one, you should go read it.

But yeah! Pearl the Bard! It's good! Soulmate drama forever :D

[the-lady-amphitrite]

— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 10

a fate already affixed

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 5,043 summary: the time for your Weaver's Reading has arrived, and Skuld tells you what she can about your future in this chapter: references to Laufey's death & Odin's past removal of one of his eyes, reader feels so 15 bc of her attitude in this it hurts, blood magic & non-descript references to blood, very blatant canonical racist attitude about Frost Giants, lots of Skuld being cryptic author notes: hello everyone, i return once more after dragging myself out of bg3 hell long enough to finish polishing and uploading this! this chapter concludes what i like to think of as "act one" for AFB (with all of the setup about soulmates, glimpses at interrealm politics, and a look at how people get their godnames in this AU), and the next chapter kicks off "act two"! i'm really looking forward to posting the six chapters that make it up; it's honestly my favourite thread of this whole AU.

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

You yawn at the stars as you lean against the front side of the karvi as it sails along Yggdrasil’s branches. The bright, distant stars are nothing more than blurred lines as they fly past the ship. They remind you that (despite not being able to tell yourself) this ship moves faster than even the racing skiffs on Asgard.

The ship — you remember someone had referred to her as the Grey Wolf — arrived on the shore of Asgard this morning, spearing through a dense fog in such silence that it left you in awe. The sun had yet to crest above the horizon when the karvi docked, there only to pick up you and your mother to head to Gymirsgard.

Sleep still clung to you like the mist of a light, drizzling rain when your mother dragged you from bed to get up and dressed for this trip. Your birthday party had run late into the previous evening, even though the celebrations had started from the moment you walked into a private breakfast with your family. Even Volstagg, his parents, and his sister Birsa (who just returned from her Valkyrjur trials), were all invited to the family breakfast. It was the first of many surprises for your fifteenth birthday.

Fifteen.

A smile works its way onto your tired face as you remember once more. You’ve looked forward to today for as long as you can remember. You can’t count how many times you’ve dreamt of your visit to the Weavers of Fate over the years. Of facing Skuld before Mímisbrunnr.

Skuld reveals one moment — just one — from a Drekasál’s vast future when they visit her after they’ve turned fifteen. A moment that you’ve been told again and again no dragon ever reveals to anyone else. Not even their soulmate.

A thrill of anticipation sings its way through you, winding through your limbs and rattling your breath. To keep something so close, so secretive, must mean that it’s a moment of unparalleled importance to a dragon. You’re meant to be able to tell your soulmate everything. You’re meant to trust them with the best and worst of who you can be.

Your imagination runs wild with a dozen ideas of what could be so important, each one spilling across your thoughts like a overflowing bottle of watered-down ink on heavy parchment.

You look behind you at the three dozen other drekabǫrn on the karvi. More than half a dozen conflagrations are on this ship with you and your mother. Each of them a different size, and from a different realm. Dragons from across the Realms of Yggdrasil, all headed to speak with the Weaver of Futures.

It’s painfully obvious how much you stand apart from the others. They came with their conflagration; you only have your mother at your side. For the first time since you met him, you can keenly feel the two year age gap between you and Gauti. Too young still to receive his own glimpse of the future, Gauti waits back on Asgard with the rest of your family.

In some ways, you suppose it’s a bit silly to only really feel that age gap now. In all the years you’ve known him, the only lessons you’ve ever shared with him are the Drekasál ones. He’s a child of the Court of Asgard like you are, but he’s also in the class below yours, so you’ve never shared those lessons with each other. Still, watching how close the other drekabǫrn are with their conflagrations reminds you of Gauti. And not just of Gauti, but of Loki, Thor, Baldr, and Volstagg. Part of you yearns to return home already. To the familiarity and warmth of your friends.

Soon. Soon you’ll head home. You just have to get through this visit to Gymirsgard, and then you can return home.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first glimpse of Gymirsgard comes as you approach the realm, the excited gasps and chattering from the other drekabǫrn drawing your attention from the distant stars.

The blue star of the Jǫtunheimar system blazes brightly in the distance — though for you, it just appears white. You only know that it’s blue because of your lessons about the various star systems of Yggdrasil.

In the open space before Jǫkullknǫttr — the star — sits Gymirsgard in all its wondrous glory.

Unlike Asgard’s unique standing as a small, flat realm, Gymirsgard is a round planet, its only edges that of its atmosphere. Truthfully, for a realm, Gymirsgard is on the smaller side. Yet it not only houses more Drekasál than you can imagine, it’s also the same realm your mother and uncle were born to. For decades — centuries even — Gymirsgard was the only realm they knew. It was the realm they called home before home became Asgard.

You eyes quickly shift away from Gymirsgard to look at the vast, open space that occupies most of your view, scanning for the one other planet of this system with sharp eyes. The realm forbidden to all — and for good reason. After what happened to Princess Laufey, to High Lady Dagmær, to your uncle, and to so many other Drekasál and Asgardians there, no one should step foot on that accursed realm.

Jǫtunheimr. A realm full of icy darkness and ravenous monsters. A realm that will rip the life from any who dare venture to it.

You don’t see the ice planet though, wherever it is. Good.

Your attention shifts back to Gymirsgard as you approach the realm. Second by second, the realm swallows up the view in front of you, until the karvi is descending through the atmosphere, and the stars are swallowed by the sky and the clouds.

Your mother leans against the side of the karvi beside you as the starship breaks through the heavy clouds hanging over this part of the realm. She peers out over the vast, forested land below with a fond smile. Shifting her gaze, she points towards a seaside city in the distance, a wide smile you don’t see too often on her face.

“That’s Krossavík,” she tells you.

The name strikes a familiar chord in you, but at first you can’t place the name. When you do, it’s like a strike of lightning zips through you as you remember where you’ve heard it before.

“The city you grew up in?”

“The very one.” Her hand falls, and her smile fades a little. “It’s quite strange. Sveinn and I are from the same city, and yet we spent so long trying to find each other after our Soul Awakenings.”

“How long?” you ask, leaning your chin against your crossed forearms as you stare at the city. In the distance, you can see a few dragons in flight, returning from the sea to Krossavík. From here, you can’t hear the beat of their wings, or make out anything that makes them stand apart from other dragons. They’re just dragon-shaped blobs of grey, soaring over the grey sea.

“A century or so. Your uncle is only a little more than a decade younger than me, but I was gone from Gymirsgard by the time his Soul Awakening happened. We only met because I came home to see my mother.” The smile on your mother’s face fades further, becoming softer, sadder.

“Will we see here while we’re here?” you ask, excitement bubbling in your chest. You’ve never met your grandmother, and your mother rarely speaks of her. Photos of her are even rarer.

“No, no, she won’t be at the landing ground, my star,” your mother says. She reaches out, placing a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder. She knows you’ve always been curious about your grandmother, what with how you prod about learning more about the dragon you’ve never met whenever your mother or uncle brings her up.

You pout a little at her words. It’s followed by a soft chuckle from your mother, and then a kiss placed atop your head.

“You’ll meet her someday, I promise,” she vows.

“But when?” you ask, impatience threaded in your words even as you keep them hushed so as not to draw the attention of the other dragons. You draw away from her, standing tall and looking Kára in the eyes. “This is the first time we’ve left Asgard. And we’re here, Mamma. Why can’t we just go see her?”

Kára looks away, but you continue to stare at her. She closes her eyes, shaking her head. She says, “It’s a lot to explain, especially now. I would love for you to meet her, it’s just… not the right time. Not with everything else.”

Everything else. That mysterious phrase is the bane of your existence. All you’re allowed to know is that phrase has something to do with her Weaver’s Reading. Something she can’t tell you. Something she is never allowed to tell anyone.

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning against the side of the karvi again, your back to her. You don’t look at Kára. Instead, you watch the land that passes below and the other drekabǫrn as the conflagrations mingle with each other. None of them come near you, though you can see the way their eyes dart to stare at you for a few seconds now and again.

Neither you nor Kára speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t even look at her, ignoring her presence the best you can.

When the karvi lands, it’s in a valley to the far north of Gymirsgard. A narrow stream flows out from the mouth of a cave at the end of the valley, the bubbling sounds of it lost beneath the flurry of activity of the conflagrations jumping over the side of the ship. You sigh, then heave yourself over the side of the ship, landing in the soft, crunchy layer of snow that barely covers the top of your boots.

You watch as the different conflagrations separate from one another entirely. The vængforinginn of each conflagration checks that their drekabǫrn are accounted for, and the adult dragon with each one merely hovers nearby.

There’s another crunch of snow beside you, one that causes your eyes to dart over before they shift towards the drekabǫrn once more; Kára hopped over the side, joining you in observing the drekabǫrn. She places a hand between your shoulder blades after a few second, guiding you forward, and everyone begins the short trek over to the cave.

The drekabǫrn trade glances with each other — and with you a few times — as all of you make your way towards the cave. Kára’s pace is swift enough that, soon enough, the two of you are leading.

Everyone is (mostly) silent during the walk. The crunch of snow is the loudest sound in the valley as you walk alongside the river that spills from the cave. Even the birds have gone quiet, the presence of so many dragons setting the forest on edge, it seems.

The conflagrations stop several metres from the cave’s mouth, but Kára keeps walking the two of you forward. You can feel the eyes of everyone drilling into your back, sending waves of unease up and down your spine. Something in your chest claws at your heart and lungs, begging you to pay attention to the danger that lurks at your back. It takes everything in you not to look back at them.

Kára stops just before the mouth of the cave, and you turn to face her, finally looking at her again. Her eyes are focused on the cave beside you. There’s a brief twitch in her jaw, a sign of her unease with being here. It makes you wonder if she’s remembering her Weaver’s Reading once again.

Her voice is hushed as she tells you, “Once you step inside, you cannot come back out until Skuld releases you. No matter what you see, what you hear, you do not leave. Understood?”

Your skin prickles at her words, hairs raising along your limbs and the back of your neck as you realise the extent of her unease.

“I understand.” You step away from her, into the cave itself. The two of you stare at each other for another moment. Then you nod at her before turning away and making your way further into the cave.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first steps into the cave are tentative. There’s soft torchlight coming from a few metres in, and you pass by the first of the torches on soft feet. You look back over your shoulder only once, after you’ve passed them. Your mother still stands there at the mouth of the cave, alone. It’s an unusual, unsettling sight. Uncle Sveinn is always with her. Always.

Except for this one time. He wasn’t allowed to come along for this journey. No one would explain why. All they would say is that he had to remain on Asgard.

You face forward again and continue down the tunnel.

Torch after torch, the tunnel turns into an ascending loop. Your footsteps are the only sound besides your soft breaths. Even the torches are quiet, which is far more unsettling than you would have expected. You make your steps as light as you can, your ears straining for any sounds besides your soft footfalls.

You continue your ascension, winding higher and higher with each loop. You’re not certain, but you think the loops are wider now than when you began — not that you can really tell.

When you finally reach the end, you find the tunnel opens up into a wide cavern room. There’s a slow, watery glow to the room as you step past the threshold. Like you’ve walked into a world beneath the waves, despite never stepping foot beneath water. All through the room, you can see stalactites dripping from the ceiling and stalagmites rising up from the unnaturally smooth floor.

“Ah, she finally arrives,” a voice calls out. Skuld’s voice, it has to be. You turn in a circle as you venture further into the room, searching for the Weaver, whose voice echoes all around you. “We have long awaited this day, little drekabarn. We have watched you with great curiosity. Your future is shrouded more than most.”

“Shrouded? What do you mean, Weaver?”

“Just as I said. It’s unusual for one like you. However, it always signals an interesting future as it unravels. Now, come. There is much for you to see and learn.”

Skuld glides out from behind you without warning, her footsteps soundless. You jump at her sudden appearance, wondering where she appeared from. Your back was to the cavern entrance, and you’re positive you looked at every shadow you passed as you stepped further inside. Still, you follow her as she moves deeper into the cave.

It strikes you how little of the Weaver you can see, the same as it did when Loki and Volstagg were given their god-titles. A black shroud covers her face, forbidding you from seeing beyond it, and a black dress that drags soundlessly across the floor, covering all but Skuld’s hands. Hands that you had assumed would be clean and boney, but are actually heavy, worn, and scarred.

As you cross through the cave, you approach a small seating area. Two large, dark rugs with the faint workings of a pattern woven into them, covered in a myriad of pillows, and a small circle of stones set between them. The arrangement is set at the base of what appears to be a well. The source of the watery glow of the room, if the way the ripples seem to fall onto the ceiling above it is any indication.

Mímisbrunnr. The Well of Wisdom.

Awe dances through you at the sight of an object so revered and sacred. Over the aeons since this Well was discovered, so many have sacrificed pieces of themselves just for a bit of knowledge they sought.

All-Father Odin sacrificed his eye to Mímisbrunnr years ago. No one truly knows what he’d sought an answer to when he did so, but it’s easy to guess what answers he likely sought. He sacrificed it to learn how to end the war with Jǫtunheimr. It was where the All-Father went after, appearing on Jǫtunheimr with one less eye before leading Asgard at Eldgard’s side against the Frost Giants once more.

The All-Father ended the war, but the Well had apparently not told him how to win it without losing the one he fought to bring home. Princess Laufey died on that frostbitten and cursed realm, never to know the warmth of Asgard again.

Skuld takes her seat on one side of the Well, gesturing for you to sit opposite of her. Once you’re settled, she reaches across the space between you, taking one of your hands and drawing it closer to her. Flipping it over, she leans forward and raises your palm to her shrouded face. With the index finger of her free hand, she traces lines over your palm — not following the ones etched into your skin, but different ones.

“You are remarkably calm and quiet, for one who does not know what I am doing,” Skuld says as she continues to trace lines over your palm.

“I’m not worried,” you tell her. Her tracing falters for a moment, like your answer surprises her. “I have faith in whatever you’re doing.”

“You have more faith than most. Most curious. Perhaps it is because you’ve been raised among the vættir, rather than the Drekasál,” Skuld says. You don’t say anything, despite all the questions that crowd your tongue because of her words. You have more questions than the Weaver would ever be willing to answer, that much you know.

Upon releasing your hand, Skuld sits back. You draw your hand back, placing it in your lap with the other. Only then do you allow yourself to as her the one thing that begs to be spoken.

“Why would other Drekasál not have faith in you, Weaver? You reveal Soul Awakenings, you tell us what is to come. Should we not have more faith in you than the vættir?”

“How do you break the faith of a people, and still have them seek your mercy?” Skuld asks, her voice suddenly sad and hollow. You can’t see her eyes, but you can feel her gaze as it sits heavy on you.

For several long moments, you’re quiet as you turn over her words, searching for an answer. For her part, Skuld does not press you to answer her, letting you come to your own conclusion about her question.

Mercy. Mercy implies that Skuld has more power over the Drekasál than you thought. That, if she chose to, she could punish your people. But punish them for what? And why, if their faith was broken, would they still go crawling to the Weaver, seeking Skuld’s generosity? What could she have promised —

A promise. Skuld promised them something. Something about the future. Something that they clung to desperately for so long, a hope perhaps, but —

“You promise them a hope they need, but they lose faith in that hope,” you finally say, your words slow and not entirely sure of themselves.

Skuld does not say anything, but she does nod. Something inside you fractures and weeps at the realisation. Skuld promised hope to your people about something, something they once desperately wanted to believe in. A hope they needed to believe in, and yet they have lost belief in that hope ever blooming true.

You look away from the Weaver, to Mímisbrunnr.

Silence fills the air between you both for long minutes. You think Skuld might be letting you process her answer, but it’s impossible to tell. To you, she’s just a shrouded figure, no expression to give away her thoughts. After too much silence, though, you turn back to Skuld, more words dancing sharp and angry on your tongue. Skuld speaks before you can let any of them spill forth.

“Twenty-four.” She says this like it’s an answer. When you look at her with a confused expression, trying to puzzle out the number, she explains. “Your Soul Awakening will happen in your twenty-fourth year.”

That’s nearly a decade from now. You’ve already waited forever for your Weaver’s Reading, and now you have to wait almost as long for your Soul Awakening? Impatience burns inside you.

“Isn’t that a bit old for a Soul Awakening?” you ask her. You can hear the sharp indignation in your words, and you lift your chin in an imitation of your royal friends.

“No. A soul Awakens only when it is ready. Twenty-four is a perfectly normal time for one to do so, drekabarn. Your mother's soul did not Awaken until she was twenty-seven, and her soulmate's did not Awaken until he was twenty-two.” You watch as Skuld stands, leaning over Mímisbrunnr. “I have seen souls Awaken when they are as old as seventeen, and I have seen souls Awaken as old as nearly forty. Dragonsouls are curious in that way.”

There’s the sound of something — multiple somethings being moved through the waters of the Well. The Weaver draws out several small logs from the Well, and you watch with rapt curiosity as she sits down, arranging the logs in the circle of stones.

A firepit, you realise. But the logs are wet. How does she expect to —

“Normally Mímisbrunnr requires sacrifice to learn,” Skuld says, interrupting your thoughts, “but you are not partaking in its waters, and it bends to the will of Yggdrasill, as we all do.”

“What do I need to do?” you ask her.

The Weaver passes you a knife, saying, “Three drops of blood onto the logs with the wish to know of your future. When I light the logs they will show me three things. Your most likely future paths, what your life might be in the more definitive of those paths, and which moment in your future you must hear today.” At the query on your face, she tilts her head to the side. You think she might be smiling. “Have faith, young dragon. The logs will light.”

Faith. You have plenty of that where the Weavers and Yggdrasill are concerned, even if so many other Drekasál do not.

So you listen, grimacing as you carefully make a shallow slice along the tip of your index finger. You hiss out a breath, the sting sharp as you squeeze it, letting three drops of blood fall onto different logs. Once that is done, Skuld hands you a small strip of wet cloth. You wrap it around your finger, hissing sharply at the stinging burn it causes.

Then, Skuld utters a word you don’t understand. You feel the ancient power that surges through the room. It condenses within the logs, coiling tight, then — it snaps apart, and the logs are ablaze.

You lean back on your uninjured hand, the other raised in front of your eyes at the sudden brightness. You expected thick smoke to blanket the room, but none rises from the logs. When you open your mouth to speak, Skuld raises a hand to ask for your silence. It’s only then that you realise she’s staring into the fire. You sit there, blinking as your eyes adjust to the firelight, until it no longer burns them to look at the Weaver.

“Your future is most interesting,” Skuld says. She leans closer to the fire, tilting her head to the right as she does. “I see many points that I could tell you now that will never change, no matter which paths you wander as you head towards your destiny. Most curious for one whose future is still so murky and ever-shifting.”

The hairs on your neck and arms raise. You’ve never given much thought to having a destiny. A future, a purpose to your life, yes, but not a destiny. It’s a weighted word. One that makes you think that, perhaps, you might become greater than you’ve ever let yourself imagine. That, maybe, you might live up to the legacies your parents have left for you to follow in the footsteps of.

And yet, the idea also unsettles you. To have a destiny means great things await you, yes, but you know the legends. The stories you have read, the histories you have memorised, all fall into similar patterns.

Greatness does not come without sacrifice, without pain.

“Weaver, what do you see?” you ask her, your words effused with curiosity about what she is seeing.

“I see many things, drekabarn. Every path that you might walk is open to me. I see wars that cannot be evaded, and wars that might never happen. I see a love that burns as bright and beautiful as the Kveldlagi of nights, and lasts for a lifetime; just as I also see loves that will burn like fires lit on a rainy day. I see death that will consume everything. I see your hopes, and your joys. Your wishes and dreams. Your sorrows and fears. I see the paths that you can walk, and the heartache that will shadow so many of them.”

The fire between you burns lower, barely more than embers and small puffs of flame compared to the small campfire it was just moments before. Skuld waves her hand over the embers, the fire banking until it is little more than glowing embers. The Weaver waves her hand over the fire again, and the embers begin to shift and glow in new patterns.

“I know which moment I must tell you. Are you prepared to hear?”

You suck in a breath and nod. Your heart thunders loudly in your chest. Anticipation chokes your limbs and shortens your breaths.

“Yes. I am prepared, Weaver.”

“Then listen closely to what I have to tell you, young one.”

Skuld gestures to the embers. You watch as they begin to glow in a way that forms the shape of a person. Her hand is outstretched, reaching for the hand of someone you can’t see, the image cut off. All the embers show of the other person is their hand, the details lost on you.

“This is what you must know,” Skuld begins. “You were whispered to my ancestors by Yggdrasill. Foretold by It to bring change to a great many things across Yggdrasil’s many branches. You will grow into a power that few will rival, blessed by beings far greater and more powerful than the vættir.

“Your path begins with this moment: on the day of your Soul Awakening. Much of your fate shall be sealed in the days after, for on the day of your ceremony, you will find the soul that the Voiceless One has bound you to in this life.”

You straighten up, mouth dropping open at Skuld’s words. You look at her with open awe. Warmth and giddiness floods your veins, and you don’t even attempt to hide the happiness this brings you — not that you could if you’d tried. To have your path align with your soulmate so early on? It is nothing short of a blessing by Yggdrasill for the bond the Voiceless One wove you.

You wait with bated breath for her to tell you more. To reveal any more scraps about the day of your Soul Awakening Ceremony. When she doesn’t say more, you hesitantly ask, “What else can you tell me, Weaver?”

Silence permeates the cavern, broken only by the sounds of breathing, of your heart thudding loudly, and the faint sound of trickling water. Finally, Skuld speaks once more.

“There is nothing else that I can tell you. That which I find worth telling you I cannot, for it might change the path you walk currently in ways that cannot be undone.” You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from pleading with the Weaver to reveal more to you anyway. If Skuld is concerned about changing the path you walk, then you must heed her. She's directing you towards the future you should walk, in the only way that she can in this moment. It surprises you when she speaks again. “Though, I can say this, for it is but a simple reminder. Protect your soulmate. Stand by them through all hardships, and always live for them. The Voiceless One chose this bond for a reason.”

“A simple reminder,” you murmur.

Tucking the words into your heart, you silently vow to never forget them. You’ve heard similar variations to that reminder before. More times than you can remember, your family has told you the Voiceless One chooses each bond for a reason.

It reminds you of when Frigga told you that the soulmate bond is a mixture of soul and blood magic. Of when you worried and wondered about if the bond was truly a curse in disguise, and how Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir’s interactions as a newly bonded pair banished such an idea. That afternoon showed you how well the Voiceless One chooses the bond for each of her children.

After all, how can something so effortless and comforting ever be a curse?

You do your best not to remember your exchange with Loki in the garden. Or the heavy, unspoken distance that lives in so many of the silences between the two of you these days in the presence of your conflagration.

Skuld stands without another word, beckoning you to follow her. You stand quickly, trailing after her as she returns to the mouth of the cavern. She stops before the mouth, and you step to the other side, but stop so you can turn and look at her. You place your left hand over your heart, bowing to the Weaver.

“Winds favour you, Weaver Skuld,” you tell her. Skuld pauses, as if your gesture has surprised her, and then copies you.

“Winds favour you, Lady Kárudóttir. I look forward to our next meeting. It will not be long now, before the vættir know your name.”

A shiver of excitement works its way down your spine. Skuld’s words promise to you that your godnaming will be soon. You smile, bowing to her once more. And then you turn around, and head back down the tunnel so you can return to your mother.

Each step is another one towards the destiny that awaits you.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr @pbs-theundeadmaggot @loki-cees-all @bitchy-bi-trash

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[bookwyrminspiration]

“how did you even get sick? you look ugly. come here.” For Keefe and Tam? Can be platonic or romantic if you want to do anything for it :). Maybe with cuddles because I, personally, am craving the skin

I love your writing btw please write a book one day <33

That's very sweet of you--I'd love to write several books someday! I've got some concepts up my sleeve already. Also, the way I set up their dynamic (a self-inflicted personal hell) the cuddles aren't as prominent as I would've liked to give you, but hopefully the rest of the fic makes up for that <3

idiot boys and stupid feelings <- ao3 link

warnings: sickness, brief reference of the twin's time banished and all associated troubles, but that's really it!

word count: 6.1k

Watching the sun wallowing, meekly disappearing before an unforgiving horizon as it trailed reds and purples and loud oranges in its wake across the sky was a conflicting sight for Tam, who observed unimpressed from the balcony.

Of all the sunsets he’d witnessed, the view from whatever place this was--Mr. Forkle had told them, but he hadn’t bothered to listen to that part; he’d been more focused on words like “resurgence” and “outbreak” and “victims,” the more important things--wasn’t one to stand out. A simple skyline, typical colors. The sun could do better.

A frown started to surface, but instead of letting it breach, he reached to tug on his bangs instead, the one habit he could never seem to break.

Cool air washed over his face, chilling the drying sweat sticking to his skin, a remnant of the efforts he’d exhausted, that they were all exhausting.

Over an hour ago, their group had dispersed to their various assignments, each to return to Wherever-the-hell once they’d finished their parts; he’d been done first, and was now alone in the hideout--as alone as one could be when they were always watched.

The balcony sat perched over a tumbling, mountainous expanse, sloping down into the night, a twisted metal railing decorated with florals and feathers encasing it. The wide doors were fully open behind him, allowing the light from the room beyond to spill into the creeping night and the cool, fresh air in.

As he stood there, he pretended he couldn’t feel the eyes of this place, examining his hand for traces of shadow, darkness caught under his nails, averting his gaze from that uninspiring sunset. From the memories they stirred.

Another sunset meant another day survived, but another night to face. Time without reliable warmth, with impaired sight, things moving in the night, fitful sleep.

Tam’s mouth twitched, more of the frown slipping out, shoving those thoughts aside and finding the nearest other to latch onto and distract himself.

Which landed him on blonde hair, pale eyes, bags creeping beneath them, charcoal smudges on fingertips.

And something…off.

Of all the people to think about, he didn’t have to settle on Keefe, how he’d seemed…fuzzy, ill-alert, at their “meeting” earlier. There were over a dozen people in the room, and he made it his business to watch each and every one of them, to be prepared just in case--

But, regardless of how many people he observed, his thoughts snagged on Keefe. There was something unspoken about him, something festering, something that had made him want to leave him behind. Give his piece of the assignment to someone else.

Instead, he’d decided that, with the least important piece of their puzzle, Keefe was the least of his troubles.

It had been a surprise, actually, to return to the hideout and find himself the first one back, he’d been so sure that with such a small responsibility Keefe would be impatiently pacing the place, about the track someone down to join them instead of waiting for them all to reconvene while complaining about how miniscule his job had been.

Tam’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft, dragging sound of approaching footsteps.

He stilled, darkness staining his fingers like charcoal as he tilted his head to the side, listening.

They came from somewhere around the hideout, outside, only audible because he, himself, was outside.

Shadows traveled further up his arm, a tactful, slow acclimation to the darkness falling further with each second the sun acquiesced the sky.

The footsteps paused, and in their place a door handle jangled; stone-like, Tam turned just enough to peer over his shoulder, to watch as the door swung open and a particular pale-eyed blond stepped through, hand pushing through his hair, eyes scanning across the room, the empty couches facing each other, barren counters, untouched chairs with throw pillows still dented from over an hour ago.

His eyes missed Tam, skipping past the balcony sheathed in unnatural shadow as he swept the door shut behind him.

Immediately, his facade crumbled, and if Tam said he was surprised he’d be lying.

Keefe’s shoulders drooped, carefully curated carefree expression melting into bland nothing, fingers coming up to hold his temples, traveling back to poke gently at the base of his neck like it ached.

Shuffling, dragging footsteps took him to one of the couches, where he lowered himself as though the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders.

Tam only watched, squinting to see better.

He wondered how long it would take Keefe to realize he was there, if he even would at all. The thought of how long he could probably get away with it amused him, but slipped from his grasp at the sound of a sniffle.

His muscles tensed once more, ready to make himself known and gone immediately if Keefe was about to start crying, but the sound repeated, and with it, everything from that evening clicked into place.

“How did you even get sick? You look ugly. Come here,” he said, turning fully as he did so, facing his back to the memory of a sunset and inclining his head as he learned against the railing, looking Keefe over from the better angle.

With that angle, he got a good view of the way he jumped, spine straightening and eyes widening, showing the whites all around.

His hands dropped from his head, falling in his lap as he shook himself off, a few precious seconds passing before he had himself sorted. “Were you just watching me? Dude, that’s so creepy.”

Tam ignored the question. “Drop the act, I can see right through it.”

Keefe’s shoulders tightened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted.

“Don’t even bother to try and lie to me right now. You’ve been off all evening. Now, like I said, come here.” Tam jerked his head towards the spot beside him.

His posture shifted, softening ever so slightly as he glanced between him and the door, as if there was someone else to see. Perhaps waiting for Biana to leap out of the shadows and accost them.

“Why?”

“Fresh air.”

Keefe frowned, leaning back further into the cushions, a slight grate to his voice. “But I just got all that fresh air running around scouting, looking for nothing.”

Tam shrugged. “Fine. Don’t, then.”

Silence fell for only a few short moments before Keefe grumbled something Tam couldn’t pick up, not even with all his practice, pushing up off the couch and stalking over to the balcony beside him, leaning facing out.

At least, Tam thought that’s what he was going for; instead, his feet dragged across the floor and his path swayed, Keefe unable to keep himself moving straight until he slumped against the banister, breath shaky--though he tried to hide it.

“You’re a mess, where’d you even catch…whatever that is,” Tam eyed him up and down, from the wan pallor of his face contrasted with the unnatural flush on his cheeks to the uneven rise and fall of his chest to the unsteady stance of his feet, relying on that railing for support.

Keefe huffed out what might’ve been a laugh. “Wow, thanks. Real supportive. I feel so cared about.” A low sighed rolled between his lips, laughter fading. “I think I caught it from Fitz. He wasn’t feeling great, but I ignored that and insisted we hang out anyway, and now…wait, earlier, did you say ‘all evening?’ Like you’ve been watching me all evening?”

It took Tam a moment to follow Keefe’s disjointed thoughts, lips tightening as he recalled the exact words he’d spoken.

If his cheeks felt warm, it was all the layers, all the black, nothing else. He scowled. “It’s not my fault you’ve had that funk around you all day. It’s hard to ignore.”

It wasn’t, actually; he had more than enough experience curating what, exactly, he paid attention to and was aware of. Pushing Keefe and the haze around him from his mind would’ve been simple enough.

In fact, it took more energy to pay attention than to let his gaze skip past that concealed fog around him. And yet he’d paid attention anyway.

“I think you just like me,” Keefe said, grin pulling at his lips, lifting his head enough to turn and peer at him. The unhealthy flush spread across his cheeks had starting fading to a lighter pink in the cool air, his eyes still dimly alight with fever, he noticed.

His eyes scanned scarred, warm skin, mussed hair, a silhouette backlit by the soft glow of the room beyond, the silence stretching on, his statement unanswered.

Keefe shifted, pushing off the railing to stand straighter, the two of them almost equal in height, though Keefe stood slightly taller and shamelessly used it to his advantage. “We’re alone; you can admit it, you know.”

That was…much more forward than usual.

Tam rolled his eyes. “All I have to admit is how much more annoying you are than I let on.”

“You hesitated.”

“You’re aren’t thinking clearly.”

Keefe shook his head, looking down the few inches he had on Tam, leaning in closer, unconscious of the movement; Tam was very conscious of it. “Uh uh, I may be fuzzy”--he tapped at his temple, blinking as though fighting to keep his eyes open--”but I noticed. You were thinking about it, weren’t you? You’re always thinking about something.”

Tam’s lips pressed together, averting his eyes, scowling. His gaze flickered to the door, fragments of shadows skittered along the edge of the room in tandem. They were alone, but for how long? How long until the rest of their group finished each of their individual scouting missions, returning to catch them too close in the dark?

He’d spent his life with it as his defense, and yet now its charged silence threatened to turn on him.

“You’re doing it again,” Keefe interrupted, the words fumbled, exhaustion creeping its greedy fingertips around the edges, digging its claws into the vowels.

His voice drew Tam’s gaze back, piercing through the dark. Had Keefe gotten even closer?

How had he missed it?

Tam’s body went rigid, the cool air doing nothing to combat the turmoil stirring in his mind, leaving him to fend for himself. “What--what are you doing? Cut it out.”

Brow furrowing, the words took a moment to pierce through Keefe’s thick skull.

When they did, he took a step away.

He opened his mouth, but closed it again, instead letting out a breath, one hand unconsciously rising to rub at the base of his skull, poking and prodding at what he was now certain was a headache.

Tam latched onto it like a lifeline against the sudden silence, the retreat he’d asked for and dreaded. “Have you--hailed Elwin? He always fixes you up.”

Keefe let his prior comments drop untouched, as though they were never there, snorting, “Elwin’s got enough going on with the gnomes and all the councillor visits. I’m not going to bother him with just a”--he gestured at himself--”cold or something. Whatever it is.”

“He’d want you to,” Tam reminded him, trying to be less…whatever it was about him that had Keefe stepping away. Even though he’d told him to.

Keefe had slumped over the banister again, forehead practically pressed to the railing, goosebumps raised across his skin, shivering now instead of overheating. He didn’t answer.

A few shadows slipped forward, invisible against the descending dark, hedging around the edges of Keefe’s shape, hesitating.

“Keefe.”

“Are you going to tell anyone?” It was more exhale than speaking, the words happening to tumble out at the same time, by chance rather than intention.

Tam frowned, only for a moment before he schooled his expression. “What are you even talking about?”

“When everyone else gets back, are you going to tell them?” Without any force, he gestured to himself.

“That you’re sick? Tell them yourself. Probably won’t even have to, one look at you and it’s obvious.”

Keefe sighed in what might’ve been relief. “Thanks.”

Tam crossed his arms, looking away, eyes scanning over the empty room, shadows creeping through the door searching and searching for others, but there was no one to break the silence that fell once more. They truly were alone, just like Keefe had said.

Why? They weren’t supposed to be. Where was everyone else? Why hadn’t they come back yet?

“You,” Keefe started, though he stayed with his head pressed to his arm against the railing, “are one to talk about funks when you’ve got your own all over you.”

“What?”

Keefe waved a free hand, nonchalant. “You’re so worried I can feel it, and I’m not even touching you.”

Tam glanced down to Keefe’s hands, where they rested against the railing. Close enough that they could reach out and touch him, if they wanted to.

He looked away.

“Did I successfully distract you with my charming personality?” Keefe asked, shifting his head so he could look at Tam, the hint of a smile on his mouth. But…less so. Not as wide as he’d been smiling earlier.

“You talk too much,” he scowled, reaching up to tug at his bangs, the scratch of metal against his fingertips comforting.

Keefe made an indignant noise. “You’re the one who started this conversation, creeping on me from the shadows and telling me to ‘come here.’ This one’s on you. If you didn’t want to talk to me, why ask me to come closer to you? Hypocrite.”

Now it was Tam’s turn to be indignant. “You were feverish, I told you to get over here to cool off--and so you wouldn’t infect the room.”

“Nice to know you care.” Keefe mumbled, eyes rolling.

“Of course I do,” he hissed back, then clamped his mouth shut.

Keefe stilled beside him, but Tam refused to move his gaze from where it bored a hole into the far wall, that frown from before resurfacing as his fingers dug into the railing he leaned on, bones and muscle turning to stone.

Silence screamed for long enough Tam was nearly convinced neither of them would ever speak again, and then--

“You’re gonna pass out if you stay so rigid. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to loosen up once in a while?”

Internally, he flinched, but his body remained impassive. He shot Keefe a glare. “You have to make everything into a joke, don’t you?”

It was Keefe’s turn to flinch, scowling as he looked away--but it lacked any real conviction, lethargy dimming the edges as he sniffled, a slight shiver running through him.

Tam’s frown deepened.

He watched--though if you asked if he’d been watching, he’d deny it--as Keefe’s attention snagged on something he couldn’t see, eyes distant as he flexed his hand over and over.

Flashes of cold nights and running noses, flush cheeks and wondering hoping begging Linh to wake, to be well, to push through the haze and find him again passed through his mind. Searching for herbs but not knowing what to look for, never enough supplies, coughs and setting suns and days stretching into weeks into months into eternity as Keefe faded further and further into that haze, away from him.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. “What?”

Somehow Keefe found a way to slump down even further, resting his head on his arm, squished cheek distorting his words as they spilled out, filter breaking like a dam under his exhaustion. “I don’t get you. You say you’ve been watching me all evening and tell me to come stand next to you, and then get all defensive and upset with everything I say. You’re feeling something strong enough I’m picking up flashes through the air, but I’m not touching you and I can’t think straight so I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t feel great. You say you care and then snap at me, what am I supposed to make of all that?”

Outburst over, Keefe stopped leaning on the rail entirely, instead lowering himself to the ground as he rubbed at his neck, still sniffling, staring off into the dark, sun long since gone.

Tam couldn’t help the lurch in his chest at the sight.

Keefe or the darkness, he couldn’t tell, but the jolt was there all the same.

“You must be worse than I thought if you’re getting all emotionally aware on me,” he peered down at him, trying to distract himself from the stone sitting in his chest.

“Seriously? You were just getting on my ass about making jokes out of everything.”

Shadows pulsed under his palms, swirling with an unidentified heat he didn’t want to think about. “Fine. You have a point there. I…sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Keefe made a dismissive gesture up at him, other hand still flexing, eyes closed now as he rested his face against the railing, legs crossed beneath him. It didn’t look comfortable.

After a few terse moments of debate with himself, both sides screaming adamantly, he huffed out a breath and lowered himself down hard, not giving himself a chance to second guess any longer.

“Do you want to read my emotions?”

Keefe sat up in surprise, looking over at the hand extended in offering.

“What? You’d let me?”

Teeth grinding, words slow, “You said you couldn’t tell through the air. Wouldn’t this help?”

Keefe searched his face as though making sure he was serious, and Tam fervently hoped there wasn’t anything to find as he reached to tug on his bangs. “Make a decision before I change my mind.”

That was all the encouragement Keefe needed, gaze sliding down his body--Tam swore he could feel its weight against his skin like static--to his hand, wrapping two fingers around his wrist as though taking his pulse.

Keefe’s eyelids fluttered as he inhaled, sudden and deep, grip tightening, a furrow between his brows as he pushed through his fatigue and into the maelstrom of emotion he’d been complaining about.

Trying not to squirm beneath the scrutiny, all he could do was watch, entirely unaware of what, specifically, Keefe was finding. What he’d learn.

Was this what it felt like when he read people’s shadow vapor, the sitting and the waiting?

Why had he agreed to this?

Why had he even suggested it?

A small, rebellious voice in the back of his head knew why, but he shoved it away before it could put voice to those thoughts.

“What--” Keefe made a face, scrunching up his nose, soft confusion in his tone, “what are you afraid of?”

Tam started. “I’m not--”

“You do realize you can’t lie to me, right?”

Keefe looked at him with an intensity that made him want to knock the look from his face, to turn around and walk into the night.

He settled for pulling his arm away, breaking the connection--or at least, he tried to.

As his wrist slipped from Keefe’s grip, he caught his hand, fingers brushing against his palm as he squeezed tight.

“Wait. I’m…sorry.” Keefe looked lost, fumbling for words, rubbing at his neck with his free hand. “I…didn’t mean to push you. It’s just a really strong feeling. It surprised me. Is it the thing with the gnomes? Because we’re going to figure it out and fix it.”

“I know that.”

“Then what…?” Keefe trailed off, looking lost, brows furrowing as he tried to think through the fog in his mind.

Tam’s grip tightened involuntarily, memories from his and Linh’s Exillium days flashing through his mind. “I don’t like sickness.”

Keefe nodded, still not quite following. “Well duh, no one does, it sucks--”

“It’s not the same for you,” he interrupted, looking away, leaning back against the railings, peering into the night sky as his stomach clenched. “When you’ve been sick, you’ve always been able to call on the best care your world has to offer, just a hail away. All the supplies you could ever need readily available. You’d be better by the morning as though it’d never even happened, just a slight discomfort, comfortable knowing you’d be just fine. You could take a day off, even. You never had to wonder if there was enough to treat you, if you could find what you needed, not sure when she’d get better and if she’d be okay to go to school, or if you’d have to leave her alone to go and get your beads, hoping you wouldn’t catch it because there wasn’t enough to treat the both of you and someone had to get the beads otherwise you’d be left behind.”

Tam cut off, biting his lip, for once not even caring what Keefe picked up on his palm, too distracted as he tried to get the images of Linh’s flushed cheeks, the shadows under her eyes, the tremor in her fingers as she propped herself against the wall, out of his head.

“Linh got sick,” Keefe whispered, more statement than question, but he decided to answer it anyways.

“Bad. It’d started out just a mild cold she must’ve caught from another wayward--fever, sniffles, headaches,” he glanced at Keefe’s flushed cheeks, blinking uncomfortably as he rubbed at his neck, both all too aware how it matched up with his symptoms, “but it didn’t go away. And we didn’t have anything to treat it with. And it got worse. A lot worse. I hated watching the sun set because she always shivered so badly without the sunlight’s warmth, no matter how hot I made my body. But the worst part was the only reason it got that bad was because we didn’t have any elixirs or treatment--but they exist. We just didn’t have access. And yet you do and throw it away,” he added at the end, bitterness coating his tongue.

Keefe swallowed, thumb pressed into the back of Tam’s hand. “I…guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

“No shit.”

For once, Keefe let the attitude slide, an incredibly unsettling phenomenon, because instead he was looking directly at Tam. He was suddenly reminded that with their hands still linked, he could still feel every single one of his emotions.

“What if--what if I promise to take something myself then? I still don't want to bother Elwin--the gnomes have him busy enough--but…you don’t need a physician to take elixirs. There’s probably something somewhere in whatever-the-hell this place is called--I wasn’t listening when Fork man said the name.”

“Me either,” Tam admitted. “It’s probably something stupid. Do you really plan to take something, or are you just saying that?” He couldn’t hide the skepticism in his voice, but Keefe would’ve felt it anyways.

Keefe made an offended noise. “I meant it! I’m trying to make you feel better about your sad life, because Foster keeps getting on my case about being nice to you and she’s so stubborn about it--and maybe I just like you, you ever thought about that?”

Unlike Tam, Keefe didn’t look the slightest bit concerned by the confession, grumpily playing with Tam’s fingers in his hand, poking at the veins beneath his skin. Though maybe he hadn’t thought through the consequences of saying it, or was too tired to.

“Do you?” Tam asked, quiet, braced against the answer.

Was he worried he’d say no?

Or that he’d say yes?

“I do,” he said, eyes on their linked hands, “more than I should.”

A heady rush passed through him, spine tingling as his stomach dropped--relief? Fear?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Keefe’s already flushed face reddened further, as his brain started to catch up with where the conversation was headed, pressing his lips together as though he could stop it. But there was no way Tam was letting him walk away without answers and Keefe knew it; he’d opened the floodgates, now he had to ride out the wave. It was his own fault, really.

Sighing, he made a non-committal gesture as though that would explain everything. “We both know it would be better for both of us if…if no one had to put up with me. If I could just keep all my problems and feelings to myself instead of everyone else having to deal with the mess.”

Tam made a face, snapping, “You don’t have any right to say what would be better for me. Don’t make that choice for me.”

Starting back a little, Keefe tilted his head to the side, mouth falling open a touch, glassy eyes searching Tam’s.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t get to decide what is and isn’t worth my time.”

Keefe’s breath caught, tongue between his teeth as he ventured, barely audible, “And me? Am I…?”

Tam didn’t answer for a moment, heartbeat screaming in his ears loud enough he could barely hear himself say, “You’re the empath, you tell me.”

A few moments passed, Keefe’s shaking fingers pressing against the lines of his palm with intention this time.

As the shaking spread, Keefe’s eyes widening as he glanced between him and his palm, Tam added, “Why do you think I invited you over here?”

“...Fresh air?”

Tam rolled his eyes, but tried to keep his voice gentle as he stared ahead. “Because…I wanted to keep an eye on you. Because I care and its--fuck it, its worth my time, alright? Don’t make me say it again.”

Against his better judgment, he glanced at Keefe, only to see a shit-eating grin starting to spread across his lips.

“Don’t push your luck,” Tam grumbled, shifting as he reached for his bangs with his free hand, fingers flexing in Keefe’s grip unconsciously.

Keefe nodded, smile mellowing, lingering until it turned into something uncertain. “Where…where does that leave us?”

Tam didn’t have an answer.

“Us?” he repeated instead.

Reddening, Keefe tried to backtrack, though he still didn’t let go of his hand.

But he was all out of words, quickfire mind finally exhausted, nothing left to shield himself as his mouth gaped and closed, nothing to save himself.

As if he’d ever need saving from Tam.

Scowling, he cursed idiot boys and stupid feelings, shaking his head, pressing his palm firmly against Keefe’s, deliberately thinking the words he didn’t know if he could voice again, bringing the feeling to the forefront of his very self.

I care.

Keefe hissed in a breath through his teeth. “I--oh.”

“Oh?”

“Us.”

It was all he said, but it was all he needed to say in that moment, because suddenly it was no longer a question.

It was an undeniable certainty.

“Alright,” Tam said, nearly lightheaded, “us.”

He didn’t think he minded his hand in Keefe’s anymore, whatever he’d find.

He’d already found exactly what Tam had wanted him to, what he’d been unwilling to admit he’d been hoping he would.

A shiver crawled through Keefe’s body, and for a moment Tam became the empath between the two of them. Unimaginable lethargy pulled at his bones, breath labored through narrowed airways, a fog in his mind trying to drag him into darkness.

They’d left his illness unspoken for a moment, distracted by their…whatever that conversation was, but no longer.

“You need to rest,” Tam instructed, gentle, but firm. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, but Keefe wouldn’t make it easy.

That, as expected, sparked something in Keefe, some last ditch effort to pull himself together. “No, there’s the resurgence, and we still have to reconvene with everyone--” “Please.”

The word surprised them both, stopping them short.

That…wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

But something in Keefe looked uncertain, lost, so he said it again. “Please, Keefe.”

“I…okay,” he deflated, words barely a whisper as he gave in, the bravado he’d put on slipping away, leaving him hunched over, sniffling, chills coating his bare arms on the now cold balcony, washed in the light spilling out from the room behind them.

Tam looked him over, nodding to himself--he believed him, that he’d listen for once in his life, though he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like Keefe. “I’ll find wherever their stash of elixirs is and bring them to you--why don’t you sit on the couch, get out of the cold?”

Another tremor ran through him as he finally let Tam’s hand slip from his as the two pushed to their feet in tandem, one much steadier than the other.

And even though their hands didn’t touch, not even the barest of brushes between their fingers, a silent electricity hummed between their bodies, tingling along his skin as they split. Keefe collapsed face first into the couch, groaning, and Tam moved to search the rest of the place in the quiet that followed, haunted by the hollow feeling of skin that hadn’t been touched, but nearly had been.

It didn’t take long for him to find a small, but well-equipped supply of medicinal elixirs, balms, and miscellaneous assortments for small injuries and ailments. He grabbed two he thought would help, shutting the doors behind him as quietly as possible, but they still echoed in the silent place--seriously, where was everyone else?

Had so little time passed that no one else had returned?

He could’ve sworn lifetimes had come and gone on that balcony.

So brief, and yet now the scope of his world had changed, new, undefined tethers drawing him to a certain troublesome boy with no sense of self-preservation or risk sprawled across the entirety of a couch.

Leaning over the back of it, peering down at him, Tam tapped the two vials he held against the back of Keefe’s head, smiling to himself as Keefe swatted half-heartedly at him.

“You already agreed, you don’t get to take it back.”

“I wasn’t going to!” he protested as he shifted to a propped up position, though it had less force than he would’ve expected. “I told you I meant it. I know everyone’s always telling me off for being stubborn, but I don’t always push back. I can make smart decisions.”

He’d believe it when he saw it.

Keefe grabbed the vials, uncorking the first.

Tam blinked as he downed the contents and studiously avoided his gaze. “You’re holding something back.”

Keefe scowled at his matter of fact tone as he downed the second, though his hands shook as he uncorked it. “Fine. Your story about Linh got to me, okay? I don’t want to worry anyone else.”

Of course. He’d never relent for his own sake, only to prevent himself from becoming a burden to others.

Idiot.

Keefe wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, waiting for the elixirs to kick in and for Tam to say something, but he was too busy scanning the room for a blanket, frowning when he came up short. Surely a secret, underground rebel organization trying to fix fundamental problems in their world had enough interior decor sense and time to have decorative blankets somewhere.

Apparently not.

“What are you looking for?”

“A blanket. You’re shivering, but I don’t see any,” he continued, ignoring Keefe’s mouth opening--likely to protest. He always had something to say. Infuriating.

Keefe didn’t like being ignored and rolled his eyes--though he winced with the action, probably aggravating whatever of his headache hadn’t eased yet--and grumbled, “This is ridiculous. I’m not even that cold. What are you even going to do about it without blankets? Share your body heat?”

It took a moment for Keefe to register what he’d just said, but when he did his eyes went wide, mouth snapping shut as he dared a glance at Tam.

He kept his face carefully impassive, but he reached up to tug at his bangs, habit traitorously giving his frazzled state of mind away.

Neither of them spoke for a moment longer--Keefe, because while sick, had the sense to realize he’d given away much more than he’d intended to tonight, and Tam because he had no idea what to do with everything Keefe had given him.

“Careful there, someone might think you actually wanted to be close to me,” Tam deadpanned at last, fingers still in the rough metal, though the joke fell oddly. Like with whatever their new us was, it didn’t fit anymore. Like it was just going through the motions without the venom behind it.

Keefe said nothing, but his gaze flickered, away from Tam’s face--only for a few moments, but long enough for Tam to see him rake it down his body before snapping back, and he could’ve sworn it lingered on his hands.

Tam stopped short, mind going blank. “...do you?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” was the answer he got, unable to tell if his flush was from sickness or embarrassment as he refused to meet Tam’s eye.

He gave his bangs one final tug before he dropped his hands, blurting out, “When we couldn’t keep warm in the neutral territories--before we’d learned to regulate our temperatures or when we were too tired--we’d share body heat.”

Keefe’s brow furrowed, looking up at him, uncertainty on his face. “...are you offering--”

“Well if you don’t want to--”

“I didn’t say that! You…you’re warm,” he tacked on at the end, trying to find a suitable explanation, but the hesitation gave him away.

Tam stayed silent for a moment, then, “Sit up.”

“I--huh?”

“I said sit up; you’re taking up the whole couch. Unless you want me to crush you with my body weight, I need space,” he continued, but Keefe was already scrambling to push himself up, freeing up a spot that Tam slid into, breath catching as their arms brushed together.

He’d been close to people before--closer, even, usually with Linh.

But something about Keefe’s arm against his jolted through him, every hair on his body standing on end.

“I’m not going to bite,” he said, amused, watching Keefe sit stunned beside him, rigid as a statue, a cornered animal ready to bolt. “Well, probably not.”

Keefe huffed, something sounding like asshole and fuck it spilling past his lips as he shifted closer, their legs pressing together too now, the static between them building, though neither mentioned it.

Quietly, glancing at him for permission as he did so, Keefe reached out and took Tam’s hand; he felt rather than saw the tremor that rocketed through him at the influx of emotions the touch provided, but Keefe just held on tighter.

Their breaths the only sound, they sat like that, pressed together, until Keefe’s shivers had started to abate.

“How are you so warm?” Keefe mumbled suddenly, starting to melt back into the cushions beside him--whether because he was comfortable or exhausted, Tam couldn’t tell. “You’d think a shadow guy would be freezing.”

“Shadow guy?”

“Shut up. You know what I meant.”

Keefe’s eyes had fallen closed, words slurring, chest moving slow, rhythmic.

Hardly daring to move, Tam watched as Keefe’s muscles gave in to sleep, his head tilting, falling in a slow arc towards him, until Keefe’s cheek was pressed against his shoulder, grip loosening in his hand.

Tam’s breath caught in his throat, but he stayed still--until Keefe started to slip, at just the wrong angle that gravity tried to pull him forward.

Before he could fall further, Tam caught him, grinding his teeth together as he weighed his options.

Gently, he shifted, hardly daring to breath lest he wake Keefe from his much needed nap, and just…adjusted his trajectory slightly.

Instead of falling forward and off the couch, or roughly shoving him back, Tam lowered his head into his lap, hands hovering over the rest of his body uncertainly before he finally let them settle on Keefe’s arm.

A few terse moments later, Keefe gave no sign of stirring, settling into the new position, breaths even--and Tam thought his color had improved too, the elixirs starting to kick in.

There was nothing else to do in the silence that followed but breathe an easy sigh, looking around at the well furnished room--unforgivably devoid of blankets, but otherwise lavish--the steady light, the stable structure, secure in the knowledge that no matter what happened next, he wasn’t--they weren’t--out there still.

That they could get what they needed, and enough of it.

They weren’t the only people looking out for them anymore.

Which brought a different problem to mind: where was everyone else?

Almost as soon as he put thought to the question, something prickled his senses, and the door across the room swung open, Biana bursting in with Linh close behind, breathless.

They stopped short at what they found as Tam tensed, Biana’s mouth falling open and Linh covering a knowing smile with her mouth.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he hissed, glaring at them, heart pounding.

The glance the two shared and the grins that followed didn’t bode well for him.

But as Keefe shifted in his lap, sleeping peacefully, safely, recovering, skin soft against his own, he couldn’t quite remember why he cared.

[twistedtummies2]

The Wearing of the Green - Chapter 3

This is part three out of four for my (belated) Event Story Special for St. Patrick’s Day of 2023. It’s inspired by the Disney movie “Darby O’Gill and the Little People,” but also features references and homages to numerous other things related to the leprechauns. Some are more obvious or more obscure than others; let’s see how many you guys pick up on. ;)  As a reminder, while kinks are involved in this story, they don’t really become the main focus until the fourth and final chapter. With that said, if you don’t like belching, stuffing, vore, macro/micro type stuff, and so on, probably best to just steer clear. Here’s hoping you all enjoy!

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The journey through the forest of Sage’s Island seemed to go more quickly than any of the five rescuers from Night Raven expected. Perhaps it was because of their collective drive to achieve their mission, for whatever motives they had. Regardless, the green-suited quintet soon found themselves standing at the base of the great hill, staring up at the ruins of the old fort at the top. “This is the fairy mound,” Malleus Draconia said, pointing with the golden-shamrock-topped cane he held at the ruins above. “Up there, among those battered stones, is the entrance into the underground palace of the leprechauns.” Ruggie Bucchi stepped forward slightly and sniffed the air. “Yep. I’d know that scent anywhere,” he nodded, and smirked back over his shoulder at the others. “Did you know leprechauns smell kinda like chocolate and mint?” “I know that I probably could have survived without that knowledge,” drawled Ace, boredly. “Remember, gentlemen, to stay behind me,” Malleus said, smoothly, and looked up the crest of the hill, narrowing his eyes at the ancient fort above them all. “The leprechauns will have a guard of some sort on duty, and I’d like to avoid too much trouble if we are able. The more quickly we settle our score, the sooner we can all go home.” “Heh. Don’t worry, if anything gets hairy, we’ve got your back,” grinned Deuce. Malleus blinked at him slowly and tilted his head. “First of all, why are you expecting the leprechauns to spontaneously sprout a great quantity of hair?” he asked, very sincerely. “Second of all, I think you have a back of your own, don’t you?” Deuce blinked back. “Uh…n-no, I…those are expressions, Malleus. Sir.” “Oh,” was all Malleus said, in a bland, blank sort of way. There was an awkward silence. Azul Ashengrotto cleared his throat and stepped between the two. “I hate to rush you all, but shouldn’t we be starting this hike? If I MUST go through the strain of climbing this troublesome dune, I’d like to do it sooner rather than later.” “For a creature made mostly of muscle when under the sea, your aversion to physical exercise will never cease to bemuse and amuse me, Ashengrotto,” smirked Malleus. Nevertheless, he tossed his head in a beckoning sort of way, and began to climb the hill. Ace and Deuce hurried to follow close behind him, while Azul and Ruggie took up the rear.

“Psst!” Ruggie whispered to Azul, half-hiding his mouth with one hand. “I’d never say it to his face, and I’m not sure he’d get it if I did…but do you ever get the feeling Malleus is one glazed doughnut short of a dozen?” “Mortal turns of phrase tend to be a mystery to him,” shrugged Azul, then smirked conspiratorially to Ruggie. “Just follow him and remember our agreement.” “Right,” Ruggie smirked back with a nod. “Objective one: save the Herbivores. Objective two, get the gold.” “Correct,” Azul nodded back, then his smile faded. “We must agree on how to divide the spoils of fortune, once the crock of gold is ours.” Ruggie hummed and looked up towards the sky as he paced up the slope of the fairy mound. “Hmmm…how about a ninety-ten, split?” Azul froze, gaping at Ruggie as if he thought the hyena had lost his mind. “That’s…unbelievably generous,” he replied. “Oh, you’re the ten. I take my ninety off the top,” Ruggie grinned mockingly. “I think not!” Azul snapped. “Talk to me, then,” Ruggie said, lifting a hand and flexing his fingers in a “come on” gesture. Azul was quick to begin haggling. He faced Ruggie sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. Ruggie, with an exaggerated puffing-out of his own chest, mimicked the reaction. “You get fifteen,” Azul declared. “Seventy!” “Twenty!” “Seventy-five!” “You’re going the wrong way.” “...Fifty-fifty?” “Hm. Are you happy?” “No. You happy?” “No.” “Perfect!” “DEAL!” they exclaimed together, and shook hands on it. Ace and Deuce had paused a little ways ahead of the pair. They shared a long-suffering sort of look, before whistling to the greedy duo. Azul and Ruggie, realizing they were lagging behind, ceased their bargaining and bantering as they hurried to catch up. Soon, the top-hatted gang of five reached the entrance to the fort ruins. The entrance was a great stone archway; all that remained of a mighty doorframe to the long-destroyed fortress that had stood at the top of the fairy hill. Beyond, the scattered stones of the crumbling base stood like jagged, blackened monster teeth, illuminated by the curved crescent of the moon above, and the sparkling white speckles of the stars. There was something strange, almost ethereal, about the place, which none of the team could quite accurately describe. Malleus glanced about the old fort. A small smile graced his face; he liked this place. Still smiling, he stepped through the portal of the ancient arch, and strolled across the grassy ground beyond, carefully stepping over busted bricks that lay cracked and beaten-up near his feet. His glowing green eyes helped him see easily in the dark, so he had little trouble making it around the area. Ruggie Bucchi was similarly gifted, while Azul adjusted his glasses, squinting slightly. Octopi were used to the darkness of the deep blue sea, but on land his eyes were SLIGHTLY less sharp. Ace and Deuce, meanwhile, fumbled and stumbled slightly, nearly tripping on some rocks a couple times, but managing to catch themselves. “So, uh…what exactly are we looking for?” Deuce asked. “Some sort of hole in the ground,” Azul replied, glancing about carefully. “Yeah,” Ruggie nodded, and tapped his foot on the ground in a sort of illustrative way. “The leprechauns live inside this hill, so this whole fort is basically their front porch. We’re looking for the actual entrance.” “So, what exactly do we need to find?” frowned Ace removing his hat and scratching the back of his head. “A rabbit hole?” “Bigger than that,” Azul said, shaking his head. “Probably something more akin to-” “A well.” Malleus Draconia’s words were accompanied by him pointing towards the old, dark well in the center of the hilltop. The moment the five spotted the structure, they began to march towards it. However, they were only halfway there when… “HALT!” The five obeyed the voice, coming to a short stop. They glanced about, trying to spot whoever had called out to them. “Look over here, ye blatherskites!” Ten eyes turned upwards. On the broken battlements in one part of the weathered-out fortress, they spotted a leprechaun with blonde hair and hazel eyes, wearing a golden helmet in place of their kind’s typical red cap. From a scabbard at his size, the little man drew a sword, which seemed not much bigger than a kitchen knife with his short stature. “Ahoy-ahoy!” he called out. “Lieutenant O’Reilly speakin’! By the power o’ Prince Bannor O’Brien, I demand the leader o’ yer party step forth, an’ state his name an’ yer business! Intruders are not welcome atop the fairy mound, certainly not tonight!” “And if we refuse, what are you gonna do?” Ruggie called out with a grin, indicating O’Reilly’s sword. “Jab us with your toothpick there?” “Don’t ye dare speak ill o’ the O’Reilly blade, lad!” snapped O’Reilly, puffing up with indignation. “For didn’t it slay the Terrible Shamrock-Eatin’ Ogre o’ Rathcullen?” “That had to be one heck of a small ogre,” mumbled Ace. “I heard that!” snapped O’Reilly. “An’ I’d watch yer tone, lad, whoe’er ye may be! I’m hardly alone, ye know.” So saying, O’Reilly snapped his fingers…and in an instant, at least two dozen more leprechauns - possibly even more - suddenly popped their heads up over and around the corners and edges of the ruined walls of the fairy fort. They were all dressed in similar garb to the lieutenant, except that their helmets were silver rather than gold. Some carried swords, while others carried what looked like slingshots. They glared at the newcomers suspiciously. The four mortals all froze stiff…but Malleus seemed thoroughly unfazed. The draconic fae lifted a hand for silence, then stopped forward, sweeping his hat from his horned head as he approached. “I am the leader of this group, Leftenant,” he called up. “And I should hope, in this case, my reputation precedes me.” O’Reilly’s eyes widened, and he gave a salute. “Ah! Prince Malleus o’ Briar Valley! Faith, an’ I never expected to see the likes o’ you here on this night! Tell me, did ye like the new boots I cobbled for ye?” “Oh, so it was your work?” Malleus chuckled. “I thought you looked familiar. Yes, sir, they were most splendid.” “Malleus gets his boots from leprechauns?” Deuce whispered to Ace, looking quite flabbergasted. “Well, he IS a fairy prince, and the leprechauns are fairy shoemakers,” snorted Ace in reply. “Oh. That’s a good point, didn’t think of that…” “Do you ever think at all?” Ace retorted in a teasing sort of way. Deuce punched him in the shoulder for that. But not very hard. Ruggie and Azul, who had heard everything, snickered in the background. “What business have ye here, on the Night o’ the Wearin’ o’ the Green?” demanded O’Reilly. “An’ who be these impertinent scallywags that follow ye?” “I have come to simply and humbly pay my respects to Prince Bannor, in honor of the Wearing of the Green Celebration,” Malleus replied, calmly. O’Reilly narrowed his eyes. “No offense meant, Your Royal Highness…but I was under the impression Malleus Draconia never went anywhere without an invitation.” Malleus’s grip on his gold-topped cane tightened. He inhaled deeply through his nose then exhaled slowly. “My apologies,” he said, as smoothly as he could, then closed his eyes and tipped his head downward. “I had hoped the lack of an invitation was merely due to some oversight, you see.” “I see,” confirmed O’Reilly, then raised an eyebrow as he glanced towards the others. “An’ as fer yer party?” “My attendants,” Malleus said, simply. O’Reilly merely hummed in the back of his throat. He hated to doubt a member of fairy royalty…but something about the situation seemed off. It seemed his fellow leprechaun guardsman were paranoid as well, for two of them leaned in to whisper to him. “Prince Malleus has been on this island for years, an’ he’s never tried to visit on an occasion like this before,” one said. “Why now, when we’ve just so coincidentally got one o’ his fellow Night Raven students under the ground?” “An’ four attendants fer a simple visit like this?” the second hissed. “I don’t like the look o’ them, either…” “Nor do I,” agreed O’Reilly, scratching his chin in thought. “Especially that one with the silver eyes an’ sneaky laugh. Somethin’ about ‘im seems…familiar, somehow…” “What should we do?” the first guard asked. “I have a notion,” O’Reilly answered, and turned to the second guard. “Be yer sling ready, Sergeant?” “Aye, sir.” “Then when I give the order, fire at the rogue’s hat, try to knock it off his insolent head. There’s somethin’ I want to check,” said O’Reilly, with a sly smile. The leprechauns smirked and nodded. Malleus, meanwhile, was still calmly waiting on the ground level of the hilltop fort. “Am I not wanted?” Malleus inquired, coolly, and replaced his hat upon his head. The words carried a hint of danger. O’Reilly squirmed slightly with minor indecision, but he quickly made up his mind. He’d given his aides their orders, after all. And in the event things were truly innocent, he could hardly risk upsetting the likes of Malleus Draconia. That could equate to all sorts of disasters, none of which the Little People were entirely prepared for. Besides, as far as the attendants went, he could not detect any trace of mortality from any of them (courtesy of Sam’s help), so there was no reason to automatically believe anything beyond the dragon boy’s word. “By all means, Your Highness,” O’Reilly said with a bow. “If ye wish to greet the Prince, ye may!” “Thank you,” Malleus smiled, and tapped his hat brim, before waving for the other four to follow him. “Come along, gentlemen.” “Huh,” mumbled Deuce, as the team began to walk towards the well once more. “That was easier than I thought.” “Too easy, perhaps,” mumbled Azul, adjusting his spectacles and casting a passing, anxious glance towards the watchful eyes of the Little People, who followed their movements like a collection of hungry green gulls. “I sense a trap.” Azul’s senses were quite correct. Ruggie was at the back of the group. He grimaced a few times as he moved, his tail still sore as it was tucked into his trousers, and his ears feeling itchy as they were hidden by the top hat he wore. As he passed the spot where O’Reilly and his two closest soldiers were stationed, the leprechaun lieutenant called out to him… “Excuse me, sir!” he shouted, and pointed past Ruggie. “I believe ye dropped yer purse!” “I don’t carry a purse!” Ruggie called back, crinkling his nose in befuddled offense. “Do I look like a girl to you?” “Well, if the high-heeled shoe be fittin’,” teased O’Reilly. Ruggie gave a petulant glare as the leprechauns all giggled. “I think he means your wallet,” Ace said to Ruggie…then his eyes widened as he suddenly realized something. “Ah! But wait, you didn’t-!” It was too late. Ruggie cursed violently and whipped around, horrified: after all, it wasn’t really HIS wallet he happened to have on him, and Leona would probably have eaten him if he lost it on a fairy mound…or anywhere else, for that matter. Of course, as Bucchi looked around, he quickly realized that he hadn’t lost the wallet at all. Before he could fully register how he’d been bamboozled, O’Reilly took action. “NOW!” he snapped at the Sergeant, who promptly fired a jagged piece of rock from his slingshot. PANG! The sharp rock smacked into Ruggie’s silk hat, and knocked the topper off his sandy blonde head. Ruggie froze and gulped guiltily, as his hyena ears were now fully displayed for all the world to see. “Damn it,” he half-sighed and half-muttered. “Oi! Since when have there ever been fairies with ears like that?!” cried out the Sergeant. “That’s no fairy at all!” O’Reilly shrieked. “I recognize the lout by description! That be the scurrilous blackguard who tried to murder the Prince!” Ruggie smiled awkwardly. “Uh…heh heh…y-yeah, about that, um…see, I wasn’t really-” “IT’S ALL A TRICK!” O’Reilly bellowed, not at all in the mood to listen to the hyena’s lies. “ATTACK, LADS! DRIVE ‘EM ALL OUT!” In a moment, more than a dozen slingshots were spitting fragments of stone at the gang of mages. Azul cried out as his glasses were knocked off his face; as he scrambled to find them, Ace, Deuce, and Ruggie all tried to dance out of the way of the flying pellets of broken rock, yelping and yiping as they held up their arms to avoid getting any in their eyes. “Ouch! Ack! Hey, cut that out!” Ace shouted. Wisely, none of the leprechauns shot a single stone at Malleus Draconia. This, however, just left the half dragon totally undistracted; quickly, he hurried to stand in front of the other four. He uttered a quiet incantation and held up his hands, summoning an invisible barrier of magic. “Are you all uninjured?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the leprechauns as the rocks uselessly rebounded off the invisible wall. “I believe only my pride is mortally wounded,” grumbled Azul, replacing his thankfully undamaged spectacles back on his face and brushing himself off as he stood up again. “Well, this escalated quickly,” sighed Ruggie. “We’ll never reach the Prefect now!” bemoaned Deuce. “Not all of us, certainly,” Malleus concurred cryptically. He paused for a moment, holding the shield steady, before looking over his shoulder. “Trappola? Spade? I have to be the one to parlay with Prince Bannor. No one else here has that authority. As for Bucchi and Ashengrotto, they are your upperclassmen.” “What do you need us to do?” Deuce Spade asked. “Keep the Little People occupied,” replied Malleus. “Draw their fire and see if you can find a way to combat them. Myself and your seniors will make our way to the underground areas of the fairy mound.” “I’m not a fan of being bait!” Ace snapped…then, at the look Malleus gave him, he quickly changed his tune: “On second thought, yep. Bait’s fine. Bait’s totally fine. Just a couple dozen tiny green goblins, I can handle that. Yes, sir.” “Good,” smirked Malleus, and then looked at Deuce once more. “We’ll be depending upon you.” “I never back down from a fight,” smirked Deuce Spade. Malleus smiled a little wider, then pulled his arms back before thrusting them outward with a growl. The shield burst apart, sending a blast of wind with gale force towards the leprechauns. The ones that did not quickly duck back behind their covered spots were bowled over in an instant by the force of the blast. “Come on!” bellowed Malleus, flourishing his cane and holding onto his hat as he made a dash towards the well. Azul and Ruggie quickly followed behind him… …But they skidded to a halt when, instead of stopping, Malleus leapt into the air and dove straight down the well. Ashengrotto and Bucchi peered over the edge…and each looked distinctly nervous when they saw the seemingly bottomless, black void inside. “I bet we can make it,” Ruggie said, flashing a smirk up at Azul. Azul bit his lip, then glanced back over his shoulder, where he could see the leprechauns regrouping after Malleus’ defensive strategy. “Two madollars says we can’t,” he replied. “You’re on!” laughed Ruggie, and grabbed hold of Azul’s arm. Ashengrotto let out a yowl as Ruggie dragged him over the edge, and the pair went tumbling head-over-heels into the darkness after Malleus Draconia… Ace and Deuce watched the two leap into the well, then looked back. They each gave daring grins as they swept the top hats from their heads and pulled out their Magic Pens. The leprechauns were chanting some sort of battle cry in Gaelic as they prepared their slingshots and blades. “Alright, little guys!” Ace called out. “Just stand down, and we can make this real easy…” “In yer dreams, mortal!” called O’Reilly, hopping down from his perch with his sergeant and the other guard. He had a vicious smile of his own on his face. “I’m more than ready fer a donnybrook!” “Suit yourself!” Deuce said, cracking his knuckles. “LET’S DANCE!” The humans charged forward, as O’Reilly led the leprechauns with swords towards them. The tiny blades swung through the air, but the two nimble teenagers leapt over the heads of the little people, and then thrust out their Magic Pens towards the “archers” with their slingshots. Deuce fired two shots of icy magic towards the battlements, which froze the projectiles they fired in mid-air, causing them to fall uselessly to the ground. Ace, meanwhile, summoned a pillar of flame, which caused several of the leprechauns to yelp and fall back in alarm as it burst into view right before their eyes, blinding them and making them drop their slings. By this point, O’Reilly and his lads were already upon the duo, and once again began to slash their weapons through the air. Ace and Deuce agilely skipped around them, knocking the swords away with practiced kicks and sweeping strokes of magic from their pens. When the leprechauns then pounced and latched onto them like a bunch of cats, they were quick to try and shake them off, all the while sending volley after volley of fire and ice towards the slingshot strikers. Neither had any desire to actually hurt the Little People, but they equally did not want to be harmed themselves. Their job was to keep O’Reilly and his men distracted while the rest did whatever they had to do below. “I hope this won’t take too long,” grunted Ace, as he jumped out of the way of O’Reilly’s jabbing attacks at his legs. “Speak for yourself!” laughed Deuce, firing more and more shots of ice back at the projectile-launching leprechauns. “I haven’t had a chance to cut loose in a while! Let them take as long as they like!” Ace just rolled his eyes as he forced O’Reilly back with a fireball. He hadn’t counted on spending his night fighting a bunch of knee-high sprites while dressed like the Queen of Hearts’ Hatter… …If nothing else, he decided, this would make for an interesting story to tell Cater and others when they got back to campus.

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“You lose.” Azul grumbled as he subtly passed a couple of madollars to Ruggie Bucchi, who merrily stuffed them into his trouser pockets. The pair had reached the bottom of the well safely, partially thanks to Malleus: how, exactly, the dragon man had avoided injury was unclear (considering there were at least six or seven different ways he might have managed it, this did not surprise either of the greedy mages). Upon reaching the bottom, he had used a spell to help provide a smooth and harmless landing to both of his fellow students of Night Raven College. Now, the trio were moving through a hall of green candles in the bowels of the earth, somewhere inside or perhaps even beneath the hill of the fairy mound. “Don’t be a sore loser, Azul,” grinned Ruggie. “Look at this way: if you’d won, neither of us would have profited.” “At least then I wouldn’t have lost two madollars,” huffed Ashengrotto, and adjusted his spectacles. “I think I have every right to be upset, too, considering it’s your fault we got into such a mess to begin with. How could you fall for such an easy ploy like that one?” “Hey, I have my off days,” pouted Ruggie. “Nevertheless, Ashengrotto makes a point,” Malleus said over his shoulder. “I would have expected better of you, Bucchi.” “Well, to be fair, I’m not exactly proud of myself, either,” sighed Ruggie. “Falling victim to a complete rookie gag like that…you’d think I’d have known better, after the last time…” “What exactly DID happen last time?” Malleus wondered, pausing in his walk and raising an eyebrow. “It’s my understanding that the entire reason you threatened the leprechaun you caught, and whom the Prefect saved, was because you had evidently met them before.” “I’m presuming you were fooled by some sort of trick then, as well?” smirked Azul, adjusting the tie and fingerless gloves of his vibrant green costume. “Yeah, but in my defense, it wasn’t as easy as this one was,” scoffed Ruggie. “See, last time I caught the little guy, it was while I was fishing in the river. I heard the sound of a small hammer tapping on a tiny tack, and you can guess where things went from there. So I grabbed the little morsel, and demanded my three wishes from him.” “And I’m guessing you wished for the crock of gold three times,” teased Azul. “Oh, it’s never that simple,” Ruggie said, and the ominous tone of his voice caught Azul by surprise. “You, of all people, oughta know: you can’t get something for nothing. Leprechaun wishes always come with a catch. So I decided the first thing I was going to do was make sure to avoid it.” “Very cunning,” smirked Malleus, now seeming intrigued as he turned fully, enraptured by Ruggie’s story. His pointed ears were pricked up. “How, exactly, did you attempt such a thing?” Ruggie grinned. Had his tail been free, it would have wagged. He wasn’t used to an audience, but he rather liked it. “Well,” he chuckled, and lifted his fingers counting off the wishes he made. “First, I wished for good health the rest of my life, that way he couldn’t make me sick with some kind of spell and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the gold properly. Then, I wished that I could have tons and tons of food to eat, because I didn’t want to have to spend all that gold on food because of some other curse.” “Oh, please, you would have spent most of it on food, anyways,” snorted Azul, crossing his arms with a bland expression. “Your belly is a bottomless pit.” “Guilty! Shishishishi!” snickered Ruggie. “But it didn’t hurt to make sure. And my third wish was for the crock of gold, which he summoned right in front of my eyes a second later.” “It sounds like you were well-off then,” murmured Malleus, and cocked his head to one side. “So why is it that you aren’t rich beyond the dreams of avarice now, Bucchi?” “Because then the little guy said, ‘How about your fourth wish?’” Ruggie answered. “Of course, I always thought it was just three wishes, and when I pointed that out, the leprechaun said, ‘I’m a generous fellow.’ Well, if he was generous, I was a greedy moron, because I fell for it. I tried to make a fourth wish for another crock of gold, so I could share all the money with the poor kids back in the slums in the Savannah.” Azul’s eyes widened. “That’s remarkably charitable of you,” he observed. “Hey, I share food with them all the time,” Ruggie reminded him. “I know what it’s like to come from nothing at all. Those kids could have had decent lives with all that treasure.” “But I’m guessing you should have quit while you were ahead?” presumed Azul. “Exactly,” said Ruggie, his ears drooping dismally. “That little cheat laughed at me, and chanted: ‘Three wishes I’ll grant ye, big wishes an’ small! But if ye wish a fourth then ye’ll get none at all!’ And just like that…poof! The gold disappeared in a puff of yellow smoke. I tried to grab hold of him then, but he slipped between my fingers and danced away!” Azul clucked his tongue and shook his head. “What a terrible tragedy,” he sighed. “Ah, Ruggie, my benevolent heart weeps for you! I almost want to cry!” “Who are you now, Rook?” snorted Ruggie, giving Azul’s theatrics a bland sort of glare. “Besides, your eyes are dry.” “Well, I said almost,” smirked Azul, a twinkle in those dry eyes. Malleus chuckled and waved for the pair to follow him. “Amusing as that story was, we’d best be on our way. There are more pressing matters ahead,” he reminded them. With twin nods of agreement, the Octavinellian and the Savanaclaw student continued after him through the stone corridors of the fairy mound’s cavernous halls. It wasn’t too long till the trio saw a great stone door ahead. Seated on a little stool beside the door was a wee little man with jet black hair. His eyes were closed as he slept soundly where he sat, snoring till the sound - light and tinkling, like a little music box - filled the dank passage. Malleus and his compatriots approached. Azul cleared his throat and doffed his top hat as he moved a bit closer to the front. “Ahem! Excuse me, sir, may we pass?” he asked. His words fell on deaf, slumbering ears, for the leprechaun continued to snore. Malleus frowned, and tapped the gold ferrule of his walking stick sharply against the stone wall. “Leprechaun!” he intoned, powerfully. “Arise! I entreat an audience with your prince.” The leprechaun fidgeted and mumbled something about “rabbits and hares” in his sleep, but otherwise did not stir. “Here,” smirked Ruggie, stepping forward. “I know how to wake him up.” Perplexed and curious, the other two stepped back as Ruggie knelt down and looked the leprechaun up and down. He then cast a mischievous smile back over his shoulder at the pair. “Hold your ears and cover your noses,” he teased. “I had onions today.” Malleus looked confused. Azul looked absolutely horrified. “Ruggie, wait-!” It was too late. The hyena thumped his chest…and let out a huge burp, right in the leprechaun’s face, which echoed through the cavern tunnels. “GYYYYYUUUUUUUWWWWWUUUUOOOOORRRRRRRP!” The black-haired little person let out a gagging, wheezing, choking sound and tumbled off of his stool, falling to the ground coughing fit to burst. “AGH! Y-ye stinkin’, misbegotten, disgustin’, execrable…!” “Yeah, and I might have forgotten to brush this morning, too,” Ruggie grinned, seemingly quite pleased with himself as he stood up again. “Shishishishi!” Azul turned slightly green in the gills, covering his mouth as he seemed to grow quite ill. Malleus crinkled his nostrils and coughed once - just once - into his fist before speaking. “Thank you, Bucchi. Unorthodox, but…clearly effective.” “I have my moments!” Ruggie winked cheerfully, slinging his arms behind his head with a rascally sort of grin. The leprechaun staggered to his feet, eyes watering from the awful stench and horrid heat of Ruggie’s gas and breath. He was breathing heavily; whether it was out of anger or because he was still half-suffocating on the belly fumes was hard to determine. “What in the name o’ Mab do ye want? How did ye even get in here, ye overgrown knotheads?!” “We jumped,” was Malleus’ matter-of-fact response. He bowed his head respectfully. “Apologies for my associate’s manners. I am Malleus Draconia.” “Well, that much I can see,” scoffed the leprechaun with a sour scowl. “Can you?” said Malleus, with a dangerously calm smile as he knelt down himself, his green eyes piercing into the leprechaun’s own. “Then I advise you to show more respect than my comrade does. Because I assure you, this is no mere social call, and despite my present placidity, I am infinitely more upset than you can possibly imagine.” The way Malleus showed off his teeth after saying that sentence made the black haired, blue-eyed leprechaun gulp nervously. The little man gave an awkward bow. “Ah…aye, uh…s-so sorry, sir.” “Quite alright,” cooed Malleus and rose to his feet once more. “My mortal friends here and I wish to enter the palace of Prince Bannor. I desire…nay, DEMAND an audience with him. I know this is an inopportune time, but I must insist.” “Indeed?” the leprechaun returned, and looked at Azul and Ruggie (especially the latter) quite warily. “Well, ah…Your Highness…me name is Patrick, and I be the Prince’s second lieutenant. If an appointment had been made and ye had come with fellow fairies, I’d give ye entrance in a heartbeat. However, under the circumstances, I feel my duty is to keep this door barred to any who would interrupt Prince Bannor’s Wearin’ o’ the Green festivities.” “Please, we MUST see him!” Azul implored. “It’s most urgent, I assure you.” “We’re the Little People, me bucko,” smirked Patrick. “Down here, urgency means nothin’.” “How about meal times?” grinned Ruggie fiercely. “Do those mean anything?” Patrick gave Ruggie a very serious look. “If ye caught me in the daytime, that threat would mean something, boy-o,” he said, darkly. “As it stands, I’d mind yer mouth, because with one snap o’ me fingers, I could sew it shut.” Ruggie subsided at that. “Is there any way we might convince you to open the doors?” Malleus asked, in a professional sort of tone. “As a matter of fact, there is,” Patrick nodded. “Accordin’ to leprechaun tradition, I am honor-bound to open these doors to anyone who can pass a quick test.” “A test?” Azul repeated. “What sort of test?” “A simple one,” replied Patrick, and held up one little finger. “I would ask the three of ye one riddle. Just one. If any one of ye can answer it, ye may be granted entrance to the palace. Otherwise, by the same law o’ the leprechauns, I am to cast ye out with all me powers, an’ none of ye shall ever be allowed back in the fairy-mound again.” “That’s all?” Ruggie blinked. “Aye,” Patrick confirmed. “Ha! That sounds easy!” Bucchi grinned. “Agreed,” Azul said with a smug sort of smile. “If that is how it must be, I accept the challenge,” Malleus declared, leaning on his shamrock-topped cane. “Ask your riddle, Leftenant Patrick.” Patrick grinned, seemingly excited, and merrily skipped over to his stool. He hopped up on top of it and motioned with his hands in a sort of hocus-pocus fashion, his voice carrying an almost mystical sort of lilt, playing up the riddle as he posed the question to his listeners… “If ye break me, I do not stop workin’. If ye touch me, I may be ensnared. If ye lose me, nothin’ else will matter. What am I?” There was a pause. “That’s it?” Azul checked. “That’s it,” grinned Patrick. “Ye each get one guess.” “Hmmmm, that’s a toughy,” Ruggie murmured thoughtfully, as Malleus scratched at his chin in thought. “Perhaps not as tough as it seems,” smirked Azul, and raised a hand as he offered his guess: “I say it must be gold. You can break up a gold statue, and the pieces will still be worth something, so it would still work. If I can touch it, I can certainly take it. And I imagine the loss of it would certainly matter a great deal to the Prince of the Leprechauns, as it would to me.” “This riddle isn’t about the Prince of the Leprechauns, Ashengrotto. It’s about us,” Malleus reminded him. “And not everyone puts as much stock into gold as you do.” “Gold is incorrect,” Patrick confirmed, much to Azul’s chagrin. “Two guesses left.” “Ooh! I know, I know!” cheered Ruggie, bouncing on his heels. “Maybe the answer is food! I can rip a piece of meat to shreds and break apart a chicken’s bones, and it’ll still be pleeenty useful to my stomach! Obviously, I can catch my own prey, which would definitely tie into the whole ‘ensnaring when touched’ thing. Oh! And I know from experience, when you don’t have any food, you can’t exactly think of much else beyond how hungry you are.” “Interestin’ guess, onion-breath, but no,” Patrick said with a shake of his red-capped head. “It isn’t food, either.” “Awwww,” whined Ruggie, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Patrick smirked somewhat meanly, then looked up expectantly at Malleus as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well, Your Highness? It’s yer guess or nothin’ now.” Malleus pondered for a few moments…then a small, slight, soft, almost sad smile came to his face. “A heart,” he said, very quietly. “The answer is a heart.” Ruggie and Azul blinked. They looked first at each other, then back at Malleus. “A heart?” they asked in chorus. “Naturally,” Malleus said. “If you break a person’s heart, it still keeps beating. If you can touch a person’s heart, then a part of each of you remains with the other, ensnared for all eternity. And if you lose heart...then you really won’t care about anything anymore.” “That seems pretty sappy,” mumbled Ruggie. “Are you quite certain?” Azul checked, clearly equally unsure. “Yes,” Malleus nodded, and looked down at Patrick with a firm sort of stare in his green eyes. “A heart is my final and only guess, Leftenant.” Patrick paused…then an enigmatic smile crossed his face…and he lifted his hands in a slow clap. “Faith, an’ that is the answer,” he reported. “Well done, Prince Malleus.” “Your praise is appreciated, but unnecessary,” slithered Malleus. “Now, please, I wish not to delay any further: may we see Prince Bannor?” “You may. But I’m afraid yer mortal attendants will have to wait here.” “Huh?!” yowled Ruggie. “B-But he got the answer right!” Azul sputtered. “Aye. HE got the answer right, so HE is allowed in,” Patrick said, patiently. “You two failed, an’ if it weren’t fer Prince Malleus’ presence, I’d have ye both cast out right this moment.” Ruggie and Azul each gaped. Their mouths opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Malleus gave a rather wicked sort of smirk of triumph to each. “Don’t worry, Bucchi…Ashengrotto…I’ll make sure our mission is successful,” he crooned. “After all…I told you from the start…” The stone door began to open as Patrick threw out his hand in a sweeping gesture. “...I was perfectly capable of handling this myself.” Tipping his hat to his fellow college classmates, Malleus prowled through the doorway, which soon slid shut behind him once more. Ruggie and Azul were left inside the passage, each with longing, tragic expressions as they slumped down to sit on either side of the tunnel. “So much for that fifty-fifty split,” grumbled Azul, morosely. “Leona was right,” pouted Ruggie. “Life’s not fair, is it?” As the two schemers sulked, Patrick could only smile.

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“Oh, she’s my dear, my darlin’ one! Her eyes so sparklin’, full o’ fun! No other, no other, can match the likes o’ her! She’s my dear, my darlin’ one! My smilin’ an’ beguilin’ one! I love the ground she walks upon! My Darling Irish Girl!”

You really hadn’t thought anything could get weirder than being surrounded by ghosts, beastmen, merpeople-in-disguise, and other such oddities (compared to your homeworld, at least) at all hours of the day…but something about being the only normal-sized human being in a gathering of merry little fairy-folk, not a single one bigger than a bunny, had to take the cake. Still, despite all the madness you’d gone through up till now, you had to admit…if there was one thing leprechauns knew how to do - and loved doing above all else - it was throwing a party. It felt incredibly odd, of course: standing beside the throne in the great hall of the fairy palace, with all the Little People dancing and cavorting about you. But the music was grand and the fun was infectious. There were other perks, too: you couldn’t help but admire the clothes you were wearing. You were seriously afraid of MOVING in them, not because they were too restricting and you feared breaking them, but because you’d sincerely never worn nor even seen anything more fabulous…as well as fabulously green. Grim - expectedly - had dressed up for the occasion, as well: his usual black and white ribbon had been replaced with one of solid, glorious green, with little tasseled ends, and the faint outlines of pale clovers sewn into the cloth. A little green derby hat - with holes cut in the brim for his ears to fit through - completed the arraignment. You couldn’t help but chuckle as Grim came wobbling over before flopping down onto his backside beside you. He looked dizzy and dazed as he rubbed his little belly, loopily singing the catchy ditty that the leprechaun musicians were playing. “Nyaaaahhhh…Minion, you have GOT to try the buffet,” he said, and hiccupped with a giggle. “Maybe later,” you said, as you sipped some hot punch that had been prepared for the revelry from another perk: an exquisite crystal chalice. You smirked slightly. “You probably shouldn’t dance on a full stomach. I haven’t seen you cut a rug like that since Halloween.” “First of all, who says I’m full? Second of all…what rug?” asked Grim. Both questions were sincere, and you snickered softly to yourself at the adorably confused way Grim looked around the room to try and spot the nonexistent rug. “Never mind,” you soothed, and stirred the punch in your glass with a few careful turns of your wrist. Your smile faded as you hushed your voice, so none of the leprechauns would hear. “Any ideas?” “Nya? Why should I have any ideas?” Grim frowned. “You’re the one who always has a plan!” You opened your mouth to protest that…then, realizing you really couldn’t, you shut your mouth. For as much stitching together as you did on this island, fairy magic was a little out of your range. You still had no clue how to escape this place at all. “Not going to join the dance?” You looked towards the source of the voice. Prince Bannor had hopped up to stand upon his throne. He was smiling broadly, but there was a hint of anxiety in his eyes. “I’d like to,” you nodded earnestly, then gestured with your cup. “But, uh…I don’t think there’s anybody here who would be able to dance with me.” “Well, ye could dance on yer own,” suggested Bannor, bobbing his head to the tune. You blushed bright red. “I…I-I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you admitted with a slight chuckle. “Suit yerself,” said Bannor, then looked somewhat eagerly into your face. “How is the cider? H-Have ye been enjoyin’ the music?” You couldn’t help but smile back. Despite everything, the little prince was so earnest, it was hard not to be endeared. You put your cup down, then sat upon the chest of diamonds beside the throne, the way you had the moment you had arrived, so you could look Bannor in the eye more easily. “Forgive me for asking, but…are you trying to impress me?” you asked, point blank. Bannor flushed. “Possibly a little, I’ll admit,” he confessed, then explained: “Like I told ye, I’ve never really had mortal friends before. And after all, if ye’ll be stayin’ here, I want to make sure yer enjoyin’ yerself. Makin’ ye happy is a big priority fer me.” Your smile faded. “It’s hard to enjoy myself when I’m a prisoner,” you replied, point-blank. Bannor looked hurt. “Is that the way ye think of it?” he whispered. “It’s the only way I can describe it,” you said, then smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to hurt you. I know you’re trying to help. And I really do appreciate it. Honestly.” “What’s wrong then?” Bannor asked. “I can’t have ye mopin’ about an’ feelin’ like this fer all time!” You paused, then took a breath before looking the prince in the eye. “Let me try to explain. Imagine if I hadn’t saved you. Imagine if I’d decided to take you home with me, and use my first wish to demand you not to return here till I’d made my other wishes. I could have kept you forever then, and you could have done all sorts of things…but what would it be like to not be able to see any of your people? To not see your home again?” Bannor squirmed. He removed his crown and scratched the back of his head before replacing it. “I…I didn’t think of it that way,” he admitted, then looked into your eyes, brightening quickly. “But it’s not quite the same!” “Isn’t it?” “Of course not!” Bannor said with a grin. “After all, since yer here, ye can always ask me to bring your friends to see you here!” “But they wouldn’t be able to leave either, would they?” Grim piped up. He’d been listening to the conversation, surprisingly quietly. “Faith, no,” said Bannor, then threw his arms up, unfurling his cape with a wide and cheery grin. “But that just means the more the merrier!” Grim facepawed. You had to resist the urge to do the same. “I don’t think I’m quite making my point,” you sighed. Before Bannor could respond to that, you heard the sound of the stone door that led into the palace scrape open…then the grinding sound of it sliding shut once more. The music came to a screeching halt at the unexpected sound…then - WHOOSH! - an icy wind, as cold as a wet Christmas, came swooping through the halls of the palace, chilling the air. The leprechauns stopped their merrymaking; all began to chatter and jabber in a state of perplexion. Bannor held onto his crown, his cape rustling with the sudden wind, while you stood up and glanced about. This was no natural wind; there was a strange quality to it, and a familiar scent was on the breeze…familiar, yet somehow you couldn’t accurately pinpoint why… Just then, the candles that illuminated the hall flickered; a shadow seemed to fill the room…then, there was a sound like thunder, which accompanied a flash of bright green light! KRA-KOOM! The leprechauns let out a collective, shrill cry as the green flash blinded them. As the light faded, one could perceive a swarm of strange, greenish sparks - like the crackling embers of a flame - were spiralling about. A ray of hope seemed to shine upon your heart. You knew what those sparks meant. Grim’s eyes widened, as he, too, seemed to recognize the situation. “Tsunotaro?” he whispered. Sure enough, the sparks seemed to form a shape…and in a matter of moments, Malleus Draconia himself had appeared seemingly out of the ether, standing tall and imperious in the center of the fairy fort. You were surprised by his vibrant green costume, so different from the shades of sharp, almost neon lime, deep purple, and heavy black he typically wore. Surprised, but not bothered; he looked exceedingly dapper. Malleus stepped forward, tapping his cane on the hard stone floor of the palace. He smiled a cool sort of smile at Prince Bannor, as the wind that had announced his presence faded into nothing. The dark prince straightened his back, looking around the scene, turning his head in a slow, scanning sort of way. “Well!” he commented. “Quite the glittering assemblage, Prince Bannor! Leprechaun royalty, nobility, gentry, and-” He stopped short, his eyes landing upon you. You felt something flutter inside you as he gazed directly into your pupils. You could see something sneaky and subtle in his gaze as he chuckled in a low, rumbling sort of way. “Oh, how quaint,” he cooed, and winked at you and Grim. “Even some mortals.” Grim puffed out his cheeks, fur bristling at the patronizingly playful tone. You simply blushed. He didn’t have to say that like you were someone’s pet…your situation was awkward enough without that, the horned tease. Bannor did not seem to notice the looks that passed between yourself and Malleus Draconia, as he gave a sort of cunning smile in the direction of the dragon prince, and tipped his crown as easily as any cap. “Good evenin’ to ye, Prince Malleus of the Fae,” he greeted, showing his own regal bearing. “I must say I wasn’t expectin’ ye tonight, under the circumstances!” “Really?” Malleus returned, raising an eyebrow. “Because I must say, I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation. After all, we both currently reside upon the same island.” “Well, the Wearin’ o’ the Green is a leprechaun’s feast day,” replied Bannor, sitting himself upon his oversized throne, his slippery smile still etched upon his freckled face. “And besides, ye never came to any prior festivities.” “I was never invited,” responded Malleus, with a tight sort of smile. “And ye weren’t invited this year,” Bannor retorted, narrowing his eyes. “Let us dispense with the niceties, fellow prince: ye didn’t come here fer a mere social visit, did ye now?” Malleus sighed deeply. You almost swore you saw sparks of green flame float from his mouth when he did. “Alas, you are correct,” he admitted, and pointed at you and Grim with his cane. “You see, I happen to attend the same school as these mortals. I have come tonight, as a representative of the school, asking that you kindly return them to the campus, after removing your subtle little spell over them, of course.” “Aye?” chuckled Bannor, and placed his head in one hand, drumming his fingers over one of his legs. “An’ can ye give me any reason to agree to such a request?” “I can think of a great many reasons,” Malleus answered, warningly. “I can’t!” chirped Bannor, cheerily, and laughed in a jolly way. “Sure, an’ these mortals would be much happier in my domain than in a world o’ troubles an’ cares an’ - worst of all - homework.” All of the leprechauns shuddered, as if the utterance of that word was some unfathomable sin. “And as the only one who can remove the Come Hither is the one who cast it, ye can’t exactly force me to do so,” Bannor went on. “We Little People may not be as mighty as the fae, but we have our own magic, an’ our own rules. I imagine stealin’ what I have claimed by my own power from me would constitute a rather nasty consequence among yer own people, am I not right?” Malleus’s eyes slid into jade-colored slits. He glanced around the hall. The leprechauns all eyed him apprehensively, but with a certain fire, as if ready to leap on him if he showed any signs of causing trouble. He snorted: he could torch them all or devour them en masse, and it would scarcely take much effort…but Bannor made a good point. As tempting as the thought of clearing out an entire hall of the little cobblers was, it was hardly the most efficient means of managing. Besides, where else would he get his shoes then? Mortal shoemakers had not the same touch. Malleus looked back at you and Grim. He caught the pleading eyes you gave him. You hoped he could get you and your feline-like friend out of there. His own eyes offered a promise; he had something in mind. Now it was only a matter of figuring out what it was. “Oh, dear,” tutted Malleus, seemingly remorseful. “What an awkward situation…I’m afraid that you do seem to have a point, fellow prince. And I would hardly wish to overstep my own power in YOUR kingdom, after all.” Bannor smirked triumphantly. “Ha Ha! Very wise of ye, me bucko!” he taunted, and hopped up again, winking roguishly and shaking a finger in Malleus’ direction. “Ye can go tell yer mates an’ instructors at that daft ol’ castle: these mortals are the property o’ Prince Bannor O’Brien, an’ any further trespass from yerself or any others will be resisted to the utmost! Now, may I ask that ye leave us in peace to continue our celebration?” “That all seems fair enough,” agreed Malleus, and turned on his heel. “In that event, I’d best be on my way…” And, at first, it seemed like Malleus really was leaving. But halfway to the exit, he paused, and lifted his cane, pointing it upwards. “Oh…pardon me, but…I seem to have remembered something important,” he purred. “And that would be?” Bannor asked, his smile fading. Malleus turned back around, pointing at Bannor with the cane’s clover-shaped topper. “A universal law among ALL fairies is the Rule of the Challenge,” replied Malleus. “As memory serves, it states that if two fairies of similar status have a dispute over…er… ‘property,’ as you put it, then one has the option of challenging the other to a duel of some sort. If the challenger is victorious, then that ‘property’ will belong to them, to do with as they please, by right.” “The rule also states,” Bannor reminded Malleus, “That if the one bein’ challenged wins the duel, then the challenger will be added to the list o’ property. This is regardless o’ their status and abilities.” “I am aware,” Malleus said, unflinchingly. The leprechauns all began to chatter once more. Bannor grinned. He looked rather excited. He stood back up on his throne. “Are ye prepared to take that risk?” he demanded to know. “Quite,” Malleus said, as unconcerned as before. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” you called out suddenly. “I’m a PERSON, not a gold statue, or something! I’m not just some kind of prize to be won!” “No offense, Child of Man, but in this specific instance, I think you are,” Malleus said, with an apologetic smile. “If you wish to strike me later, I will accept that punishment.” He then returned his gaze to Bannor as he went on: “My challenge is simple, Prince Bannor: the stakes will be the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, and their…little pet…Grim.” “Nya! I’m not a pet!” yelled Grim. Malleus and Bannor both ignored him. “If I defeat you, you are to remove your enchantment upon each of them, and I will - by the rules of the duel - take them back to Night Raven College.” “And, by the same rules, your own life would be offered up in the event of your loss?” Bannor grinned somewhat deviously. “Quite,” Malleus said…then smirked as he lifted a finger. “Ah…but there is one other wrinkle I would like to add to our typical bargain.” “Oh?” Bannor replied, raising an eyebrow. “And might I inquire what that is?” Malleus Draconia’s smile disappeared. His eyes glowed demonically. “I had a claim to this mortal before you did. They were…they ARE my friend,” he replied, with a slight growl. “Therefore, I ask that along with their freedom from your charms…if I win, I shall be allowed to make one more request of you, and that request will be of my choosing.” “A wish, ye mean?” Bannor blinked, seemingly surprised. Malleus’ smile indicated something much, MUCH more sinister than a typical wish, but all he said was: “If you want to call it that.” “Very well!” laughed Bannor, clapping his hands together in amusement. “But in that case, I ask that I be the one to name the challenge!” “A reasonable enough request,” Malleus supposed. “Very well then. I accept the terms as listed. Do you?” “I do!” beamed Bannor. “Marvelous,” hissed Malleus, then looked over at you. His eyes softened once more. “Don’t worry, Child of Man. I will not lose.” Normally, you would have believed him and that would have been the end of it…but something about the triumphant, eager look in the leprechaun prince’s little green eyes gave you a sense things wouldn’t be so simple. “Everyone!” Bannor called out to the leprechauns assembled. “This party is on hold, until the duel is settled. Return to yer homes elsewhere in the mound, or to whatever other hiding spots ye like; clear the throne room! When all is done, Patrick an’ O’Reilly will summon ye to continue our holiday!” The leprechauns obeyed the prince, and in a twinkling, all of them had disappeared. Now, the only ones left in the treasure trove of the Prince’s hall were yourself, Grim, and the two fairy royals. “Now, then Prince Bannor,” Malleus said, with a courtly bow. “Choose your weapon. Shall we battle with magic? Swordsmanship? Both?” “None of the above,” replied Bannor, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, a gilded box somewhere in the throne room opened on its own, and something came flying out of it. Two somethings, more like, one noticeably thinner than the other. Malleus dropped his cane and quickly caught both objects. The dragon then inspected them. He seemed as confused as you were. “A violin and bow?” you heard Grim mutter at your side, and crinkled his snout as he looked up at you. “Is he gonna have Tsunotaro hit him with those, or something?” “I very, VERY highly doubt it…but that would be pretty funny,” you responded quietly. Neither of the Princes noticed the commentary. Bannor was grinning gleefully as Malleus gave him a questioning stare. “Is this…a Stradivarius?” “A gift from me father, given to ‘im by his grandfather,” grinned Bannor with a confirming inclination of his carrot-haired head. “Our battle will not be one of physical or magical combat, but of talent and emotion!” So saying, Bannor held his hand up in the air…and, in a flash of light, a tiny instrument - the identical model of the one in Draconia’s grasp, bow and all, except much smaller - appeared in his hand. His eyes twinkled - unafraid as he looked into the soul-searing gaze of the dragon prince - and he sang out a ditty, naming the obvious nature of the duel to come. “It’s carved from out the finest wood, and strung with silver string…but only mortal trust or fairy dust can make my fiddle sing!”

To Be Concluded…

[kayfabebabe]

He Used to be Mine

Some feelings are hard to forget. When you’re reunited with Shawn for the first time since breaking up, it’s even harder to forget that, at one time, you loved him. - This entire fic was inspired by the song ‘She Used to be Mine’ by Sara Bareilles from the musical ‘Waitress.’ 

This one got away from me and I’m not sure if it makes any sense, but... Here it is. 

Shawn Michaels X Male Reader  WARNINGS - Angst. Talk/Reference to past addictions. Mention of past drug use. 

~ ~ ~ 

August 2002 

Breathe. Just breathe. In and out… 

Nothing seemed to calm the anxious buzz under your skin as you were led further into the building. Nameless crew members huddled together in small groups and bold posters of unknown, younger wrestlers hung on the walls. This was surreal. Everything was different and, at the same time, nothing had changed. A mixture of stale sweat, cheap coffee and excitement hung in the air. It had been 5 years since you found yourself backstage at an event like this and, honestly, you hadn’t been planning to come back. Ever. 

It would be an understatement to say that you were surprised when an invitation to be Shawn Michaels’ guest at Summerslam arrived. You were sure that it was a mistake or some cruel joke. You hadn't heard a single word from Shawn since breaking up and, now, he was supposedly trying to reach out. Anyone would share your hesitation, but the offer was legitimate. Shawn wished to see you. With every measured step, more and more memories came to the surface. Some pleasant and some devastating. 

The last months of your relationship had been messy. Chaotic. Shawn was trying to out-run his problems in every conceivable way, clinging to the false promises of strangers that took advantage of the Heartbreak Kid’s desperation to be rid of his demons. Coupled with the pain that came from years of taking bumps in the ring, disaster was inevitable. You had tried to help Shawn; spending hours massaging the ache from every part of his body and dealing with the aftermath of a long night taking whatever his “friends” handed to him. 

Your breaking point came when Shawn was, once again, carried into your hotel room by Hunter. It’d become a regular occurrence for you to be woken in the early hours to take care of your inebriated boyfriend. Shawn didn’t stir as you turned him onto his side or as you combed the hair away from his clammy forehead. Attempts to get Shawn sober had been made by you, Hunter, and a dozen other people, but they never worked. He would be steady throughout the withdrawal process before relapsing and falling back into old habits. By sunrise, you had made your decision. 

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs as you were stopped outside a dressing room and you read Shawn’s name written on the placard. This was it. There was no opportunity to turn back and you could no longer hide from the ghosts of your past. As soon as the door opened, your eyes landed on the too-familiar figure standing in front of the mirror with their back turned to you. Shawn. The click of the door closing behind you alerted Shawn to your presence and you caught his gaze in the large mirror. 

“You’re here!” 

You were caught off-guard by Shawn crossing the room to pull you into a tight hug, but you quickly sank into the embrace. Sandalwood, Strawberries and Sunshine. It was difficult to ignore the countless memories of waking up in the morning with your face tucked into the crook of Shawn’s neck, drunk on his sweet cologne. Neither of you are happy to break the hug, lingering awkwardly close and unashamed looking each other over. 

It was obvious that Shawn was a changed man. Mature and, somewhat, reserved compared to his younger self. The mischievous glint in his eye had softened, but it was still there. It was a relief to see the differences. You had often worried that Shawn would continue on his path of destruction and the consequences would be immeasurable. Some mornings, you were convinced that news would reach you about Shawn’s demons having finally caught up with him. 

The pair of you exchange small-talk, mundane topics to further avoid bringing up your past life together. You’ve imagined this moment, over and over and over again, leaving your mind spinning in circles. Sometimes, you saw yourself screaming at Shawn until your throat was raw and your voice threatened to give out. Other times, you dropped to your knees to beg for Shawn’s forgiveness. 

"I loved you.”

The words tumble clumsily out of your mouth before you can catch them. There was no way to take them back and pretend that you never said them. You try to swallow around the hard lump in the back of your throat, but it was impossible. Years of repressed emotions clawed at your chest in hopes of being set free. 

“I-I really loved you, Shawn… And I’m sorry that I left and that I couldn’t help and that…” 

“Sweetheart.” 

Shawn cuts off your nonsensical babbling as he takes a step closer. Rough hands cradle your face and the tears creeping down your cheeks are carefully thumbed away. The obvious affection behind the touch is bittersweet. A part of you wants to cling to Shawn, to sob into his shoulders and bury yourself in the safe feeling of his arms. But this isn’t why you accepted the invitation. When Shawn rests his forehead against yours, the world outside the dressing room disappears and you’re the only beings that remain. 

“I’m sorry I got so lost that I couldn’t see how I was hurting you. You deserved so much better.”

A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes at the sincerity in Shawn’s voice. His words weren’t slurred into a toilet bowl and there wasn’t the stench of alcohol lingering on his breath. After you left, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that you would never receive a heartfelt apology from Shawn. And you had made peace with that. Or, so you thought. Your own hands move to rest on Shawn's waist, caught between wanting to push him away and pull him closer.

A knock at the door makes the decision for you. 

Your arms drop to your sides and you’re about to step away when a gentle kiss is pressed to your mouth. Oh. For a brief moment, everything is still. It takes an awkwardly long time for you to return the kiss and lean into Shawn’s chest. The slight scratch of Shawn’s stubble against your cheek ignited something in the pit of your stomach, a need that has been dormant for too long. A deep sound is muffled between your lips, but you’re not sure who it comes from. You lose yourself; ears becoming deaf to the constant sounds outside the dressing room and focusing only on the teasing sweep of Shawn’s tongue in your mouth. 

"Wait for me? Please." 

"Okay..." 

[saint-gallier]

Me

there are things that i'm feeling, an opinion that has been building up and i'm not sure if i can think that way. to be scared id be considered as stupid or extreme or else

we discard feelings entirely when things like this happen. it's all about expressing something that is primal, whether it's rage or disgust or anger or deny, etc.

Him

My French landlady at the pub is annoyed that the British don't know how to rise up.

But yes what is happening is awful

18:53 what do you consider awful? please tell me.

Him We were just discussing it in the pub. How the French government aren't giving an inch and referring to rioters as mutinous vermin. Crazy. Our government would still flounce around the issue but not openly say things like that.

19:03 It's not telling what your opinion actually is.

Him I'm not sure what my opinion is! It's just sad. There isn't very much about it in the news here. Perhaps they don't want us to be inspired.

The French have always been better at protesting for their rights than us. We just made protesting illegal.

19:08 That's a very fair answer. Few words but i thank you. The thing is that i don't accept these riots. Not because i don't think they're legitimate but because, well, i think two things are already being accepted: that the rioters fell into complete disgrace from the population, or at least a large part. Destruction in all its forms are not acceptable, even within the most legitimate combat. Especially today and i do think social media played a part in the spreading of the violence. Because it's not Paris only, it's Marseille, it's Lyon, it's everywhere. The second thing is that the government let a situation that was brewing, immigrants that witnessed how they were let down generation after generation after they've been welcomed so well after the war.. The rioters are for the most part children of these generations. Their fight is legitimate. Factually and i'll try to stay on facts only, how it blew up in our face, after a teenager got killed by a policeman - and factually, even the initial tragedy is filled with ambiguous components which puts me in the situation of saying "yes BUT", how it's raging right now reaches such a level of wrong that i cannot fathom my anger. And that anger stands against both sides. I don't accept that the rioters destroyed dozens of infrastructures, the very same structures that welcome them - and there are people that welcome and help them if they feel let down. They have been ravaging the entire system that makes a city function as a city, a society. Stores are material, it's not much upon reflection. But i cannot but reflect that stores mean business, it means giving people employement and the security of leading a normal life, not asking more. Most people don't ask the world, they just want to survive too. The rioters pose as victims, creating more victims of the system. And obviously, my dear government is not willing to do anything towards helping anyone. It's like a candle burning from both sides and i, because this is how my life is right now, is standing right in the middle. Just like most people. And it's bloody scary. It's fucking unbelievingly frightening. That my government, which saw it coming years ago, didn't act anything into helping the people. By people i mean everyone, every single one of us. This is my true feeling, that the government put so much effort into disaggregating the system little by little, every social aspect of our lives. The government is so much accountable from every decision it took over the years. But on the same side, the rioters, young, benevolent if they're guided well, display such cruelty in their actions, because nothing is left behind, they destroyed town halls, stores, public transports, police cars, firetrucks… schools, libraries, pharmacies etc. They freed animals, lions have been spotted. It's not anarchy. I'd go on a limb and say this is not how anarchy looks like. They're not doing for the good of the people, well that is hard to believe but at the same time, i am not able to hear anything from them, what do they think. Destruction brings chaos. They didn't march side by side to protest about the killing of a teenager, and i know it's a very concerning subject, but sacking stores and burning schools are not helping them, it won't help anyone, it will bring more chaos until darkness falls. My then question is: what is the purpose of all this? What will happen after?

Him It will all blow over…. eventually.

19:37 And to be honest, some things suggest that they will come after people, and they already started. Mayor's spouse got attacked during the night, taking her young children outisde, breaking her own leg, after rioters pushed a burning car into their house. And this is the breaking point to me. You don't get to hurt innocent people when you're angry at the system. And i mean children. A baby got hurt with shard of glasses.

Him That's fucking terrible.

19:40 It breaks my spirit so hard. I see people on the net, friends and so on who go on with their lives. My sister says to that "i cannot stop living because of what they do". And she's right but i cannot stop thinking that we should. We should be worried. About the way they achieved it. About the way the government showed nothing but disdain, claiming - you're going to love this - that video games are part of the problem. Well, you know what? Even if what Macron said that, which is the stupidest thing he has ever said, visions of riots are the same as in video games. But it's a consequence, not a cause. He's a horrible man. Incomprehension is running wild. It's how you define chaos you know? Chaos is the ultimate form of when you lost control over a situation. In that case, it has been brewing for years.

Him That's a way of looking at it. The gilet jaune thing went on for a long time, and that was a few years back

19:44 The government is responsible. You blame the government, not the people living in the place where the government acts (or doesn't act), you don't get to hurt the firemen who are exhausted to break fires.

Him

The French police force has become incredibly militarised over the last few years. That much has been clear. Perhaps losing compassion in the process.

19:46 Very true. But compassion goes in both ways. For a certain amount of police brutality, there is an equally amount of hurt from people. People hurt people, whether they wear a helmet or not. And leftists cannot tell right wingers compassion is getting low and vice versa. Because signs of violence are everywhere, things that noone can quantify.

Him Civil war in France?

19:50 I dare to have a say now, with you, because it's aching my stomach, and i know you may have some distance to it or perhaps another perspective, indirect but it's still a perspective. A part of the population may be angry now but they don't have the monopole of expressing themselves that way because the way it went so far are apparently opportunistic disruptions such as once again sacking businesses, destroying the forms of education and else; it also leads to more and yes i can say it here - thank you! much less compassion therefore less understanding. i'm done for now, thank you reading me. it's been a trying statement. tomorrow i will think things differently or with an updated mind, as always.

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Cause i went to Harry's show and it was all stading up. So the show was 20h but i had to get to the venue at 5h, 15h earlier, to get in line and get a good place near the stage. (It wasn't a festival, it was a normal show). If got there 19h, i wouldn't be able to see the stage at all.

I'm thinking in Taylor's show, if mostly is chair, is it necessary to arrive so early? Cause i see americans get there like 1h before the show.

Like when you went to your show, did some people camp outside?

My country has some pretty tough camping laws in that in theory means you cannot line up until 9am the day of the concert (and for reference, most doors open anywhere between 3 and 7 depending on the venue/artist) and given that a lot of concerts happen during the week, most people have work or school so you don't get the same severity of issues as other countries where they're allowed to camp out for 3+ days. However, I will say that while I've never had an issue with any of the dozens of concerts I've gone to, the government had to put extra measures in to enforce people sticking to this when Harry Styles came here earlier this year. So while I wouldn't say that it's a Harry fandom only issue, I think it is the fandom where it is most prevalent, at least here.

But you're right in saying that it tends to only be if you have a standing ticket that you "need" to line up early or risk standing behind a tall person, which, to be honest, is why I don't buy floor tickets unless that's the only option lmao. Like my friend and I got in about 20 minutes before the opening act and were able to get merch, drinks and to our seats before the opening act started.

Eras tour is also going to be slightly different in that there's no pit/standing tickets so you will have a designated seat regardless and shouldn't need to show up more than an hour or two (if that, I would check what the merch/drinks situation is because Sydney had like ten different stalls for Reputation tour which is why we got in and out so quickly, I've heard some places only have one) early. And though it hasn't been said, I feel like on top of it being a three hour show, the camping out issue is part of the reason Taylor's done it this way. So yeah definitely don't stress or feel the need to be there for the whole day because at least for this concert, it's not needed.